Moving On
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: November 1921- An AU series 4. Sequel to Moving Forward- With the house in mourning, Charles and Elsie consider life together and retirement. How will the rest of Downton be affected? Lots of Cora and Robert and Mary as well. Might go T rating later, but will start out mild.
1. Chapter 1

November 1921

It was difficult for Cora to admit, but in many ways, the death of Matthew Crawley had a positive effect on Downton. Cora was by no means glad that Matthew was dead, and she mourned deeply with the rest of the family, but she could not ignore the fact that the void left by Matthew was being filled in surprisingly tender ways. An idyllic calm had settled over the house.

Mary and Edith seemed to have reached an understanding where they could genuinely give and gratefully receive the sisterly love they had shared as young girls, before Edith's insecurity and Mary's vanity had made them enemies. They'd accepted Rose into their circle not as a replacement for Sybil, but as a tribute. Welcoming her into their intimate family circle was something that Sybil would have done. Although the house was in mourning, Downton was a happier home than that to which she was accustomed.

Robert and Tom were getting along famously, with Tom patiently including Robert in all the estate business that he could handle and excluding him from the estate business that did not interest him. Robert had not fully embraced Tom as a son, as he had Matthew, but there were far fewer snide comments from both sides.

Cora, Violet and Isobel had formed a peaceful triumvirate, each supporting the others selflessly and sincerely. It was as likely to last as a Roman triumvirate, but it was pleasant enough for now.

Things were going so well at home, Cora wished the time of mourning was already over. She knew six months was the appropriate minimum time and Mary was likely to insist on longer, but Cora wanted to entertain _now_; to hear music and laughter in the halls; to see both her daughters blush again under the loving gaze of admirers.

She could not voice her thoughts to Robert. He would call her heartless and unfeeling. He never understood her when she spoke pragmatically about things like courtship and marriage. He had often scolded her when she tried to talk to him honestly about Matthew and Mary. Perhaps certain things sounded heartless when stated aloud, but she'd never said anything that wasn't true. And she was always on Mary's side, which was more than one could say for Robert. Cora was always assessing the situation and considering Mary's prospects with a decidedly feminine practicality. And Cora had known things that Robert had not.

When the time came, Cora would have to be the one who suggested that Mary should remarry, or at least entertain suitors. Robert and Mary would resist and protest, but Rosamund would back her. Rosamund would understand, as she herself had been widowed before she was ready to dispense with male attention. Of course, Cora knew that her daughter's heart was currently devastated and still too raw to heal. Cora would never push Mary beyond her own pace, but Mary was strong and once she faced the pain, Mary's heart would begin to rebuild itself enough to move on, as Cora's own heart had healed so many years ago.

But Robert was a man and he had the freedom to act as though things like having a position and a protector did not matter. He could not let himself see how vulnerable Mary truly was. There was an heir now, a dear and fragile little boy. But hadn't they learned that heirs were not guaranteed to inherit? Cora worried what would become of Mary if something were to happen to George before he could inherit. Robert would accuse Cora of wishing her own grandchild dead, just because she dared to speak of the very real possibility. He would believe her to be callous and mercenary. This was all very hypocritical of him. It was he who had wooed and married Cora with no love in his heart.

Not that she had loved him; he was simply the best of the available candidates that season. A failed affair of the heart and her mother had driven her from New York. Her father was more than willing to use her and his money to gain the prestige that birth had denied him. But he had made it clear that he was not bankrolling more than one season in London. How vulgar her American roots seemed to her now, but she still had that streak of practicality that the British claimed, but that the Americans actually practiced.

For all the British pride in remaining unruffled, it seemed to Cora that they merely deferred things until they blew up and could no longer be ignored. She much preferred acknowledging the true nature of a situation and dealing with it from the start; even if doing so was considered ill-mannered by her very proper British husband.

So, now, Cora had to admit it. Even amidst the sorrow, she appreciated that Downton had never run more smoothly in all the years she had been there. They'd reached a perfect balance somehow. While the family upstairs consoled each other in their own ways, the downstairs staff danced a perfectly choreographed and imperceptible ballet around them. The fires seemed to light themselves. The pillows were always fluffed though the maids were never seen. Tea seemed to appear out of thin air when it was wanted and then disappear when it was no longer desired. Servants appeared before she'd removed her hand from the bell rope. Dinners were eaten in near silence with only their favorite foods and wines. The very house itself seemed to anticipate the family's every need like an enchanted castle in a fairy tale. Cora had the absurd idea that if she had tried to stub her toe on her way to sleep at night, the bed itself would jump out of her way.

Her family was not the source of this harmony. It came from somewhere deeper in the house. Robert would not have noticed, but Cora had. Something had changed below stairs; something that had nothing to do with Matthew.

CE—

They were in the Downton housekeeper's sitting room, on her settee. Elsie Hughes was reviewing orders and menus for the upcoming week. Charles Carson was at the other end of the settee, planning wine pairings in his head as he massaged the delicate feet she had laid in his lap. Occasionally, his fingers would trail as high as her ankles, which he liked to tickle over her stockings.

"Cheeky," she smirked as she poked him in the belly with her toe. His hands returned dutifully back to her feet.

It was now mid-November. They'd finally admitted their love for one another just over two months ago amongst the flood of emotions brought about by the death of Matthew Crawley. Elsie felt as though her feet had not touched the ground in all that time.

Outwardly, their daily routine was unchanged. They looked after the needs of the household and the family with the same hard earned efficiency as ever. It was the overt intimacy of the evenings that was novel to them. Now they could openly feed off each other's love and support. They could speak words that had gone unsaid for over twenty years.

They'd managed to keep their intimacy relatively chaste so far, restricting their lips to only the skin naturally exposed by their uniforms. Maybe there had been a button or two that just happened to come undone but as long as he was under the roof of Downton Abbey, Charles Carson could not betray their trust in him.

Nor would he compromise her reputation, but Charles wasn't sure he would be able to wait another four months to make her is wife. He craved everything about her; her soft lips, her voice, her smiles, even her loving rebukes. If the family were not in mourning, he and Elsie would have been married by now. If Lady Mary did not need him, he might have happily eloped with Elsie the second he knew that she loved him. Consequences be damned.

Sometimes, during the day, the evening seemed so far off that she would seek him out in the wine cellar or he would find her in an out of the way corner upstairs for a quick kiss or even just a squeeze of the hand as she passed by. Some of these were the moments where they almost lost their sense of propriety and came very close to compromising the commitments they'd made to the family and each other. Almost.

It was a new sensation for Charles Carson to think about his own happiness and he was still not very good at it. It was easier if he focused on Elsie. His new devotion was to pleasing her in every way. Bringing joy into every day of her life would be his responsibility from now on. He would protect her, support her and enjoy her. Still, he could not simply throw off the habits of over fifty years.

He was a servant, from a generation where that meant something. He was proud of his position and of hers. Together, they supported a family, which supported a county, which supported a country, which supported an empire. At the bottom of it, there was the domestic servant. The British Empire would fail without the likes of him. He truly believed it.

Now, his love for her was more important than his devotion to the family, but he was a man with one foot firmly planted in two worlds; upstairs and downstairs; their world and her world. Both needed him. Both relied on him in ways he could never comprehend.

Charlie Carson had come to Downton as a boy, the grandson of the head groomsman, his parents unable to afford to feed him with a new baby on the way. His mother and the baby had died in childbirth and his father had left him at Downton to try and build a life. He'd left twice and returned twice but he had never left to work in another household. Carson could have wallpapered his pantry with the job offers that had been sent to him through the years. One offer even had the royal stamp on it. He'd written a very respectful refusal letter and had kept the envelope and letter as a souvenir. But, no matter the pay raises offered or the increased prestige offered, he could never abandon his family.

Charles had worried that his love for Elsie would detract from his devotion to his work, but it had not. Love is not like an apple tart, where giving some to one person means you must give less to someone else.

Love was like air, which the scientists claimed simply expanded to fill whatever space it was given. It was like water from a spring, freely flowing and from an unlimited source deep within him. And so he could, and did, love them both with a full and generous heart.

He looked up her body at her face, so lovely in the soft lamp light that they both preferred over the harsh electric bulbs. "When will the Lady's Maid notice be posted?"

"Next edition of The Lady, Lady Edith took it by the offices when she was in London last week discussing an article with Mr. Gregson."

"Humph." Charles grunted archly. He did not trust this Gregson character. He hadn't met the editor yet, but from Anna and Mr. Bates' description, Carson judged the man far too eager. And the experience with Sir Richard Carlisle had him wary of anyone associated with newspapers.

"Now, let's not go looking for trouble there." Elsie felt so badly for Lady Edith sometimes. The poor girl had the same luck with men that Isobel Crawley had with servants. They both so earnestly wished the best in everyone and were constantly disappointed. Elsie thought they should at least be glad that it was Edith being pursued, and not Edith doing the pursuing this time around.

Charles let the matter drop. He was playing absentmindedly with a small snag in her stocking at the tip of one of her toes. "I hope you find a suitable candidate soon. It shouldn't be hard to find someone more pleasant than Miss O'Brien."

"As unpleasant as she may have been, she was remarkably skilled, Charles. She won't be easy to replace." She kept her voice even, though she was trying not to giggle.

"Still, I hope it doesn't take too long. I don't want you and Anna getting over worked." She finally raised her eyes to his. No matter how often she looked at him, she could never believe the love and concern she saw in those deep eyes. When he was really worried about her, he had this way of pouting that made him look like a puppy dog that had just been yelled at. She could never resist that look.

She set aside her papers, retracted her feet from his lap and pivoted until she was sitting more upright. She reached a hand out to him and he took it. "We're managing. Lady Mary hasn't been much bother so Anna's been available to help with Her Ladyship. I'm only delivering breakfast most mornings. And even then a certain butler isn't even letting me carry the tray myself."

"Maybe he's just looking for an excuse to follow you around the house." Charles leaned into a reclining position into the space on the settee she'd just vacated.

"Maybe he doesn't need any excuse." Elsie rolled towards him; settling into his arms, facing him, her feet off the floor. "All he has to do is ask and I'd be glad to lead him anywhere." She tickled his ankle with her toe.

"And he'd follow you anywhere."

She decided to let him have the last word tonight.

**A/N I am choosing to ignore most casting news or series 4 speculation. This is my own AU version of series 4, just because my mind can't stop jumping ahead. When September rolls around, Julian Fellowes may do with them as he wishes, after all, they belong to him.**

**This story is proving more difficult to tame than the last few. All reviews are welcome and help motivate me to try to improve with every chapter.**

**Also, congrats to all the Downton Emmy candidates. I thought Rob (Thomas) might get a nod this year because he had more action, but Carson is the glue that holds the whole mess together, so I'm glad Jim got the nomination. Maybe they'll give him a meatier storyline next series and he'll actually have a chance to win. **


	2. Chapter 2

Robert could not put his finger on it. He almost felt guilty feeling so well as he did. He had declined all the shooting invitations he'd received, as was expected of him. He was something of a prisoner on his own estate, but he did not feel trapped or discontent. He missed Matthew terribly; missed having a son, but his life seemed to have a pattern of purpose to it again; almost like before the war.

Of course, there was young George, the new heir. But there was more to his good mood than dynastic security. The estate was prospering despite the government's best efforts. The routine of his life wrapped around him and comforted him, like a familiar blanket. His newspapers and correspondence awaited him patiently every morning. Bates laid out exactly the right suit for each day's activity, seeming to know what Robert would be doing that day even before he knew himself. Of course, if he'd thought of it, Robert would realize that Bates _did_ know what he was doing every day.

Robert had taken to wildfowling; sitting in a duck blind by the lake alone through the cold morning hours. Sometimes no ducks would come to their little lake, and he would just sit there contemplating the scene. But when they came, he bagged a few, which Isis happily retrieved and which Mrs. Patmore dutifully cooked for the family. It made him feel like a provider in an almost prehistoric way.

Sometimes he would meet Tom at some far point of the property to discuss the estate business. Sometimes he would go for a long rambling walk on the grounds with Isis, or sometimes Cora. No matter how muddy she got, Isis was always bathed and back at his feet after dinner, clean and happy. Robert never spared a thought for how this came to be. He only knew that it did. Cora never got muddy, but he suspected that if she did, she'd be bathed and dressed for dinner as if nothing had happened. He smiled at the thought.

Tom had blossomed under the pressure of managing the estate essentially on his own. He had a renewed spirit and tackled each challenge as readily as he had when they'd first brought him on as agent. Tom and Robert both invoked Matthew's name often; experiencing less pain and more inspiration every time the dear boy was mentioned.

The only dark spot in Robert's life was Mary. He could not fathom the girl. He knew her heart was broken, and he did not find fault with that. His problem was that within a week of the funeral, she was going through the routine of her day much as she had through the war, silently and efficiently. She never truly smiled, except when she was with George. Robert had never been good with children, so he stayed clear of the nursery. He was comforted by George's existence, but intimidated by his reality. He saw Mary only at meals, a silent figure in black. He missed her smile.

But eventually, Mary would have to soften again, wouldn't she? Thus far, he had tried and failed to reach her. She refused to join him in his walks. She claimed no interest in reading the articles or books he recommended. Eventually, she would open up to him and show him the depth of her pain. And then he could comfort her as a father should. Until then, he would wait patiently. Until then, there was the blessed routine. He would let the house care for her and for him.

CE-

One November morning, Lady Mary required Anna. She had decided to visit the Dowager House for tea in the afternoon and needed more assistance with her hair than usual. Mrs. Hughes was pressed into service to dress Lady Cora. Mrs. Hughes made her apologies. "I am afraid that I am not quite the stylist that Anna is, my Lady. It's been some years."

O'Brien's decampment to India had come as a shock to Cora; even a personal insult, but she was finding that she missed the sour faced Irishwoman less than she'd anticipated. There was something pleasant about starting her day looking into a kind face rather than having breakfast with a side of bitter gossip. Only now did Cora begin to understand how she had been guided and poisoned by O'Brien. She would have to be mindful of this when finding a replacement.

As she watched Mrs. Hughes in the mirror, the older women combing and pinning her hair, Cora suddenly understood why the house was running so smoothly. She had already noticed that, even with all the extra work, Mrs. Hughes was looking particularly youthful of late, but now it was as if the scales had fallen from Cora's eyes. Cora smiled as the motherly hands put the finishing touches on her hair; as the kind woman hummed happily around the pins she still held in her lips. Cora must have been blind to miss the ring before now.

It all made sense now. Cora wondered who she was happiest for, Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson? She also wondered which one of them had finally made the first move. _It's about time._

Though Cora was happy and relieved for them both, there was also the selfish thought of how it might, ultimately, disrupt this happy equilibrium they'd reached. Still, they could deal with that later and it didn't have to be a disruption, did it? Cora would let them come to her when they were ready. She suspected they were waiting for the family's period of mourning to end. For this reason, Cora did not mention the ring that morning, or during their weekly meeting later that day. Cora tried to take it in surreptitiously as the housekeeper wrote her menu notes.

CE-

All of downstairs already knew about Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson. While they had been discrete, neither could completely hide the effects of being so deeply in love and finally knowing that love to be returned. It was generally understood that the two were to be left to announce their understanding when it suited them. Anna and Mr. Bates had explained the matter to the younger girls and boys respectively. The atmosphere downstairs was happy and hopeful.

Accompanying their courtship, there was a new sport downstairs. Mr. Carson had taken to hiding little notes around the house for Mrs. Hughes. Sometimes she would find a poem slipped onto her tea tray or a note in a pocket of her dress that she would have sworn was empty. Or it might be as simple as a small heart penciled into her accounts book margin. Every day he seemed to find a new way to surprise her. His love notes were usually simple and pure, almost like a child's valentine. "Thinking of you." "You look beautiful today." "Kiss me."

One note had been a map to the garden with "10:15" written on it. She often found herself smiling at the memory of that particular rendezvous.

The little signs and tokens of his love were everywhere. One day, she almost fooled herself into seeing his initials in her tea leaves. _Daft woman, that man is really getting to you, _she'd scolded herself smiling.

On the one month anniversary of their first kiss, there had been a single pink rose on her pillow accompanied by a poem that still made her blush to think of it. She would certainly never look at a rose the same way again. Where he had gotten a rose so late in the year and how he had delivered it were secrets he refused to reveal, even under heavy interrogation the following evening. She found it was not very effective to torture him with kisses until he could not breathe. He was willing to endure whatever torment she was willing to dish out.

Everyone downstairs was in on the game. Mrs. Hughes had no idea how many eager fingers had opened these notes and how many hungry eyes had read his words to her. In their rooms at night, the maids giggled to recount what they'd found during the day. Mr. Carson was becoming quite the romantic hero. Alfred and James had fewer occasions to find his notes to her, but they observed the effects the little attentions had on the young ladies of the house and were keeping notes of their own. Maybe there was something they could learn from Mr. Carson, after all.

While seeing young couples fawning over each other can cause feelings of jealousy, regret and wistfulness in observers, seeing mature lovers and their tender affections gives hope to everyone; young and old. The message of their happiness rang through the servant's hall and echoed into the attics; "It is never too late to love".

Even Thomas was happy for them, though his hope of a forthcoming promotion did factor somewhat into that happiness. He certainly didn't begrudge them their joy, which, for him, was almost benevolence.

CE—

The absence of O'Brian was the only reason the relationship had not been broadcast and confirmed upstairs, though there were suspicions. All the ladies had seen the signs and the ring and were happy for the couple through the pain of losing Matthew. Just as Bate's acquittal had lifted their spirits after the loss of Sybil. Edith had even found one of his notes to 'My love' in a book in the library which Mrs. Hughes had returned without thoroughly checking. Edith had delivered the note the next day, slipping it into Mrs. Hughes office when she knew the housekeeper to be busy elsewhere.

Robert noticed nothing except an exceptionally well run household, to which he attributed Mr. Carson's contented air.

As contented as he was, Mr. Carson was having some trouble adjusting to the ubiquitous bliss below stairs. Everything was running so smoothly that he did not have anyone to yell at. He was afraid the staff would think he was going soft. Little did he suspect _how_ soft they knew he had gone.

There was far more giggling going on downstairs than was proper for any household in mourning, but his scolding only seemed to make the matter worse, with outright laughter breaking out after he left the room. So he'd given up on that. He'd have to ask Mrs. Hughes to keep her girls in line; they certainly weren't listening to him.

So he focused on the male staff, but their performance was exemplary of late. He could not manufacture reasons to admonish them. His sense of fairness would not let him. He watched Mr. Barrow, Alfred and James with an eagle eye, looking for something at least worthy of a small scolding, but he was frustrated with every day.

Elsie laughed at him one evening in his pantry. "Don't be daft. Are you honestly upset because things are running _too_ well?"

"I know it's absurd. But I've spent years cultivating my reputation as an ogre. I am losing more and more of that painstaking work with every day that passes; and all because we have simply trained them too well. If I don't reprimand someone soon, I shall lose all credibility."

"I think your reputation as an ogre is quite destroyed, my love." He raised an eyebrow to demand an explanation. "They already know about us."

"What? Who? How?" She knew better than to laugh outright at his incredulity, but it took all the restraint she had.

_He really doesn't know, _she marveled.

"_Everyone_ knows. As to the why...well, let's see." She counted the reasons out on her fingers playfully. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, walking around with a silly grin like the cat that got the cream. I am wearing a ring and can't stop humming to myself. And, you've gotten careless with your note leaving." At this last, she tapped him on the tip of his nose with her index finger to emphasize her point.

"Then allow me to deliver this message personally." He chuckled a low, wicked laugh as he shifted her in his lap.

"I never saw you as an ogre, anyhow." She assured him as her breath became a sigh in response to his message. "I always thought of you more as a bear. A gruff, lovable bear." He allowed her the last word this time, as he gave low growl into her neck.

**TBC-**

**A/N- Blatant plug for reviews. **


	3. Chapter 3

"I can break a plate for you tomorrow, if you like?" she offered one evening as they walked through the darkened garden arm-in-arm. They enjoyed coming here, even though the nights were growing colder. She liked to watch his breath condense in the autumn air. He liked the task of warming her up when they returned to her parlor.

He laughed, "That won't be necessary. I doubt I'd be very intimidating helping you clean up a broken plate." But it did give him an idea, "Maybe you could convince Mrs. Patmore to pick a fight with me?"

"I will not do your dirty work, Charles Carson." she leaned on his arm lovingly. "You'll have to kick that hornets' nest yourself. Just tell her that her last treacle tart was dry. That should do the trick."

"And have my pudding portions diminished to nothing? I don't think so." He looked aghast but was smiling.

"Then you'll just have to survive people suspecting that you are the good and sweet man I know you to be."

"Then I am ruined." He lamented comically.

"You could do with a bit less pudding, though." She rubbed at his lovely stomach and gave him the slightest pinch.

"Just more of me to love." He laughed and kissed the hand that he'd grabbed off his belly before she could pinch him again.

She shivered next to him. He placed his arm around her now, drawing her closer to his warmth. "We should be getting back; I think it's time to warm you up." He smiled at the thought, but hesitated when she did not tease back. "Elsie, Love, is there something wrong?"

"I caught her Ladyship looking at my ring today. She didn't say anything, but she will, and soon." She sighed, but managed to smile up at him. "You said you wanted a fight, Mr. Carson."

"But not upstairs. And I wanted to do the yelling, not to be yelled at." He clarified.

"Well, be careful what you wish for. I know we wanted to wait until they were out of mourning, but we were never likely to make it that far."

He shook his head. "The ring was just vanity on my part. I should not have insisted that you wear it."

"I don't think it was the ring that gave us away. Besides, you'd have had a hard time keeping me from wearing it, once you gave it to me." She considered the delicate silver band on her finger. It was easily worth more than anything she owned. When he had given it to her, she'd been too busy saying yes to really look at it. Later she'd sat in her room alone with the flush of her skin and this ring as the only proof that she hadn't dreamed the whole thing. She'd examined the ring more closely then.

The band was not solid, as she had first thought, but consisted of two circles of silver linked by a network of intertwined leaves and vines of silver. Chips of what she could only assume were diamonds and sapphires adorned the leaves like tiny flowers around the full circumference of the ring. The crest on the ring was skillfully wrought in gold and set flush between the two bands. There was nothing ostentatious or gaudy about the ring. It was delicate and well made. It was obviously old.

The crest was a griffin with a crown. She thought the ring must have something to do with the Granthams. Elsie knew there was a griffin in the old Grantham crest, but it did not have a crown that she knew of. The modern family did not use this crest much anymore, but Charles told her the ring had belonged to his mother. His mother's father had been head groomsman at Downton. Perhaps the family had given him this heirloom which had then passed to Charles' mother. It was a valuable gift to give to a servant, though, according to Charles, his grandfather had worked on the estate for over sixty years and his great-grandfather had worked on the estate before that.

Her thoughts flew back to the present. She caressed Charles' face with her hand to reassure him. The ring caught the scant moonlight. "And surely there won't be any yelling. I think we can actually expect them to be happy for us. We've been over all the options and we're agreed that the worst case scenario for us is also the worst case scenario for them. They aren't going to sack us both. We'll just have to hope that they'll be as happy for us as they were for Anna and Mr. Bates."

Charles blushed in the darkness. John Bates had told him recently about Lady Mary's wedding night surprise for him and Anna. Mr. Carson's instinct had been to be indignant that two staff members had slept together in family rooms. Of course, by the time Carson had known about it, the event had been almost two years past and Mr. Bates had endured enough in the interim to escape a reprimand. So, instead of scolding him, Charles had been flattered to be John's confidant. Upon further reflection, Charles had realized that John confided in him because he knew about Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Charles hoped very much that the family would support him and Elsie in the same way.

"Let us hope so, my Love." He kissed her fingertips tenderly. Hand-in-hand, they walked back to her parlor to warm up.

CE—

"Oh, I didn't expect to find you here, Mary." Tom looked a bit flustered.

For an estate agent, Tom Branson spent a large amount of time in the nursery, Mary thought drolly. She liked Tom, but she _had_ felt initially that he'd overreached his station in seducing her sister. But now, Mary had to admit that Sybil hadn't been seduced, but truly loved him. Sybil had never regretted her decision to leave Downton, even with her future acceptance there uncertain.

Mary knew she would never have been able to willingly separate herself from the family. She'd been willing to endure an unhappy marriage to keep the family name unblemished, until her father had given her his blessing to do otherwise. She was prepared to endure an exile in America as long as she knew she would be welcomed back to Downton when she had served her penance. No, she was nothing like Sybil.

For Sybil's sake, Mary had championed Tom whenever it was needed. She had taken particular pains to support him for Sybil's sake, even before Sybil's death; trying to wear their father down to inevitable acceptance. After her death, Mary had supported Tom even more because of his friendship with Matthew. Now, Mary truly valued Tom for his own sake. And for little Sybbie's sake, she would be happy for Tom when he found love again; even if it was with a nanny whose greatest skill seemed to be invisibility.

"I was feeling melancholy and needed my little chap to cheer me up." Mary admitted, balancing George on her knee as he gurgled. She looked sidelong at Tom before she said pointedly, "Nanny has taken Sybbie down to the folly to feed the birds." Though, for Sybbie, feeding the birds looked a lot more like chasing them around the lawn as they tried to eat the scattered seed.

"Thank you, maybe I'll go look for them." He started to go, but thought better of it. Mary had looked particularly down at luncheon today, which was saying something. She was usually very open with him when he asked, but still, she guarded her feelings closely by habit. He thought this might be a good opportunity for him to draw her out. "Or I could wait here?" he offered. She shrugged, noncommittally.

Tom settled into one of the wooden chairs beside the child sized bookcase. He distractedly picked up one of the little books, 'Five Children and It,' by E. Nesbitt. He knew the Crawley girls liked to label and claim their favorite books. Most of the Kipling books had Mary's strong hand in them.

_Was this one of his Sybil's favorites?_ He wondered and opened to the cover page. Sure enough, there was an inscription on the title page of the book, written in a neat but childish scrawl, 'This book belongs to Sybil Crawley. March 1903." And just under this, "Edith and Mary, you may read it unless I ask for it back."

He smiled at this last bit. He let this reminder of her sting him in a soft and familiar way. He had expected it, even sought it out in an unconscious way. He was testing himself. Was he ready? Was his heart strong enough to risk more pain? It had been almost two years now. He was lonely in this house of manners. He needed warmth. But right now, his sister needed him.

He knew that Mary sometimes found it hard to be around him. They were twins in a terrible fraternity of loss. Sometimes he saw all his feelings of emptiness, feelings he thought he'd defeated, reflected freshly back at him. She must feel the same towards him. They reminded each other of their loss, but it was a loss that no one else could understand. They needed each other's comfort, but sometimes they resented each other's presence.

"That's the first of three books. Sybil loved them." Mary said conversationally. "I was too old for such childish stories when they came out, and the children are a bit spoiled, but I would always sneak up to listen when Sybil talked Carson into reading them for her. It was worth Edith teasing me about liking a kid's book to hear him doing all the voices."

"After the stable boys taught us some vulgar words, Edith would ask Carson to read Puck of Pook's Hill, just in hopes that he'd get tongue-tied and accidentally swear. He never did." She smiled vacantly at the memory.

Tom nodded, but did not speak. She was working her way towards something; something she needed to say out loud; something that required an audience. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

"When I was 13, I asked Carson if he never wanted children of his own. He said he already had more children than he could handle. I asked him if he meant us girls. 'Oh, no,' he'd answered, 'you girls already have a father and a mother and your grand mamma and your aunt. There are children downstairs who have no one. They've been sent away from their families or they are actual orphans. Those are the children I mean.'"

She was coming to the point that had been buzzing in her head for days, "It used to be that all the orphans were downstairs."

She looked at George as if contemplating an alien creature. He was an orphan, wasn't he? To her, orphans were homeless street urchins or boot boys with dirty faces; something out of a Dickensian novel. Orphans were objects of pity. She did not want anyone to pity her son or her niece.

Tom rose from his chair, crossed to her and knelt beside her and George. "He has you. He has me. He has this whole family to surround him with love. This child will never be an orphan."

If anything, she looked sadder now. Considering how little emotion she'd shown lately, this was a kind of progress. Tom patted little George on the head and left Mary sitting in the nursery. She needed to be alone now. And Tom had a sudden urge to go and find his own little orphan.

**A/N In researching the Grantham family arms, I found their motto is ****_Honore et amore_****; "With honour and love". Couldn't work it in here, but thought that was kind of nice. Thanks for the follows and reviews. The next few chapters are giving me fits.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

They were in his pantry tonight. Mr. Carson had some extra silver to polish because he'd let the older boys go into town for a late movie. He really was going soft, he chided himself.

She was darning socks for the hall boys just to keep her hands busy. He really needed to get some work done tonight and Mrs. Hughes would only distract him if she sat idly in his armchair and stared at him. And with her hands busy, she was less likely to wrap her arms around him distractingly.

They'd been discussing their honeymoon options, which had led them to discuss where they'd traveled. The most exotic locale she could come up with was Lerwick, in the Shetlands. He pretended to be impressed. "Well, that's really...far north."

She was not convinced. "No need to patronize me, Charles Carson. You're not exactly the world traveler, now are you? Though I suppose you traveled some as his lordship's valet, didn't you?" she asked. "When he was pursuing her ladyship?"

"A bit, but all hotels look very much the same from a valet's perspective, whether you are in Paris or Rome or London." He paused here, remembering, "Though perhaps I do remember Italy more fondly than the others. It was warmer for a start. And if you think London is loud and dirty…you should see Rome," he smiled here, shaking his head. "There was history on every corner; very impressive. But it's not as though I was on vacation and could take it in properly. I didn't have much leisure time. Even on the train between towns, I was running around trying to secure meals or drinks or get a stain out of one of his coats." He spoke over his shoulder, as arranged the silver in the cabinet.

"So you spent a month in Italy and saw nothing?" she sounded doubtful.

"Almost nothing. But there was this one afternoon, in Rome. His Lordship wanted to impress Lady Cora, or rather Miss Levinson, with a picnic lunch, so I was allowed to accompany them to the Borghese Gardens."

"Allowed to accompany them? Carrying all the picnic things, no doubt," she interjected.

"Yes, well, that _was_ my job. And it was no easy task to procure all the items from the hotel, let me tell you. There was a significant language barrier between myself and the hotel staff. But, in the end, it turned out quite well for them and for me.

"After I'd set everything up and laid the table."

"A table, at a picnic in an Italian garden?" she confirmed.

"_Yes,_" he continued, trying to ignore her commentary, "after I'd set the table,they wanted some privacy. So I was allowed two hours to tour the Galleria Borghese. It's quite a collection. There are more sculptures there than I'd ever seen before, all in this beautiful Italian white marble. There was one statue I remember particularly." His brow furrowed as he struggled to remember. "It was of a woman looking up at an unseen figure and smiling. She held the sun in her hand. Her draping was billowing out above her like it was being blown away or pulled away. I had to get someone to translate the title for me, 'Truth Unveiled by Time'. The name made the figure even more enigmatic to me. I couldn't tell if Truth was happy or frightened. I remember being very drawn to that sculpture." He shook his head as he placed a pair of candlesticks in the cabinet.

"Maybe you were drawn to her because she was naked?" she teased him.

"Well, they were all nudes, for the most part," he admitted, "but with strategically draped cloth." He knew she was teasing him, but he continued thoughtfully. "Somehow, you don't think of them as naked. Naked is a human condition. They were human figures, but they are so large and inhuman it doesn't feel indecent. Naked is vulnerability. How can stone be vulnerable?" He laughed at himself. "That's not quite right, but that's the only way I can describe it."

"I think I understand what you mean." She almost did understand. He would never admit to being such a romantic, but he wanted to believe the world was a beautiful and orderly place. It was one of the dearest things about him.

"And they had paintings from almost every Renaissance master." He finished absently, with a far off look, remembering that time so long ago as he put the final shine on the last serving platter and putting it into the silver cabinet.

After he locked the cabinet, he turned back to the room. She had poured him a glass of that evening's red wine. It was not Italian, he thought distractedly. _Wouldn't it have been perfect if it was? _Had he always been such a sentimental fool?

She handed him his glass as he pulled one of the wooden chairs up close to the armchair. She'd pulled her feet up under her; sitting in that coquettish way that she knew he loved. He leaned in for a light kiss, slightly brushing her knee, before taking the wine and leaning back in his chair to observe her.

Enough of work for today, she now had his full attention. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, as they had for countless nights over the past few decades. He watched her put the last loving finishes on the final sock in her basket. In this light, she could have been a figure in marble come to life; 'Truth Darning Socks'. He chuckled to himself as he sipped his wine. She had perfect, classical lines, but she was too warm to be made of stone. He was watching the soft shadows from the firelight play over the soft surfaces of her skin when an idea came to him suddenly.

"Should you like to go to Italy, my love?" He leaned forward excitedly.

"What? How much of that wine did you have before I joined you, Charles Carson?" she dismissed him kindly.

"Nary a drop, love." He held his hand up as an oath, then leaned in again. "I'm serious. I've some money put by. I think we could afford it. And I've been in correspondence with several winemakers for years. They are always inviting me to visit. At the very least, we'll get some private tours of the vineyards."

His idea started to pick up steam. "We could honeymoon for maybe a month or more during the season without too much disruption to the family. The house might even be standing when we got back."

"I thought we'd settled on Blackpool." She reminded him sensibly, not sure whether she should be taking him seriously.

"Only because it's near your sister. And you said you wanted a beach. We can visit her another time and why not go to a beach where the water is warm enough for sea bathing without goose bumps?"

"I've never been to a warm beach. But maybe we could go to Brighton? It's more realistic than Italy."

"What is Brighton to the Italian Riviera?" he scoffed. "How many honeymoons does one get? How often are you planning to get married, _Mrs._ Hughes?" he asked with mock suspicion.

"Just once, love." He was topping off her glass with the last of the wine and she reached out and touched his hand tenderly. "I _would_ love to see it all with you; the art, the history. All while sampling the local cuisines and wines." She admitted, slowly warming to the idea, but not buying in completely.

"We could start in Genoa and work our way to Florence and Rome, drinking our way through Tuscany." He put aside the empty decanter. Charles was getting excited about the plan now. Of course, he would be content to go anywhere in the world with Elsie, but he could see her in Italy. He suddenly felt like she belonged there and it was his duty to take her. Also, he hadn't been _too_ thrilled with the prospect of Blackpool. It was supposed to be a very nice resort, but _Black_pool? Really? It just didn't sound as inviting as San Remo.

"Of course that sounds a mite better than Brighton or Blackpool. I'll freely admit it." They were just dreaming, weren't they? They'd never get to Italy. She wanted to change the subject; he was starting to believe they were actually going and she didn't want to see him disappointed.

"Speaking of wine, how is Mr. Barrow doing in his lessons?"

A week before, anticipating a possible change in status, Thomas had asked Mr. Carson for some instruction on the wines of the Downton Cellar. Mr. Carson thought Mr. Barrow was already familiar enough with the cellar's contents, thank you very much, but could not refuse the request. Thomas had never asked him for guidance before. He could hardly turn him away.

Carson leaned back and shook his head sadly. "The man has the palate of a fishmonger. I don't think he could tell the difference between shoe polish and Sangiovese."

"Good to know," she teased. Charles shot her a disapproving look and a smile simultaneously.

"He seems more interested in the values of the wine than the flavors. I'd be afraid to leave him in charge of the cellar while we are in Italy. I guess we'll just have to bring back enough wine to replace whatever he's stolen while we are away." He was only half kidding.

Her attempt at a change of topic had not worked; he was becoming quite attached to the idea of honeymooning in Italy. "Careful, Charles, you are speaking as though our bags were already packed. You're putting the cart ahead of the horse. We don't even know if we'll still have jobs after we marry." She reminded him.

She grew suddenly serious. "Speaking of which, Charles, I don't think we can put off telling the family much longer. I think most of them know anyway. It almost feels like deception now. I'm not comfortable with that."

"Nor am I," he agreed. "We should ask to meet with Lord and Lady Grantham after tea tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is, then. But, if we are both to be sacked tomorrow, we can at least make some last happy memories of Downton tonight." He was more than happy to oblige her, though, secretly, he _was _worried about tomorrow. They wouldn't be sacked, he knew that, but there was always the specter of forced retirement, the chances of which were greater than she suspected. Things were always done properly at Downton. But they'd discussed all the possibilities. If one of them had to retire, it would be him. If retirement drove him mad, they'd make adjustments; buy a shop or a pub with the family's assistance or find somewhere that would take them both. But they'd put it off long enough. Tomorrow, they would know, one way or the other.

He forced these thoughts away. They would burn that bridge tomorrow.

**A/N I've postponed the troublesome chapters by adding a little Chelsie fluff. Hope you enjoyed it.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, at the appointed hour, Mr. Carson had gone in search of Mrs. Hughes. As he crossed the entrance hall, he was grabbed from his quest by Lady Edith. "Mr. Carson! Mary wants you. She's in the nursery with Mama."

Mr. Carson tried to make his excuses, but was almost forcibly dragged up the stairs to the nursery, where he found Lady Mary holding baby George and Lady Grantham holding little Sybbie. They had obviously been patiently waiting for him. Nanny was not present. Mary had probably sent her away. Carson knew Mary was not fond of Nanny, who she claimed was never about when needed. "Indeed, I could not tell you what she looks like. I think I handed George to a chamber maid this morning," she said in a piqued tone at luncheon one day.

"Oh, Carson, thank goodness." Mary greeted him with weary sigh. "Edith and I were trying to remember a song you used to sing to us." Edith followed him into the room that felt suddenly small.

"_I Dreamt I Lived in Marble Halls_?" he offered.

"No, but that was my favorite," Lady Edith commented.

"Something about summertime..." Mary tried to trigger his memory.

"_A Sailor's Life_, perhaps?" He was joking with her now. He knew very well that was one of Sybil's favorites.

"No, you know the one, about the flowers and mountains or something." She knew exactly the song she wanted to hear, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Oh, you must mean _Wild Mountain Thyme_, my lady." Of course he'd known all along that was the song she wanted.

"That's it, _Wild Mountain Thyme_. That one was a favorite of mine. But I've forgotten exactly how it goes," she lied. "Could you please teach it to me again? I wish to sing it to little George."

Much too late, Carson realized he'd been trapped into a performance. All the eyes in the room looked at him imploringly, even baby George. Mr. Carson gave up any thought of refusal and any hope of escape. He secretly enjoyed singing, but there was rarely an appropriate occasion. And it would not be proper for him to admit how much he had enjoyed singing to the girls when they were young. Best to pretend that it was an imposition and that he was a reluctant performer.

"I am sorry, my ladies, but I must beg to sit in your presence. I cannot stand in the middle of the room and sing like a schoolboy at recital."

"Very well, you must sing to George as you sang to us." Mary stood up, offering Carson the rocking chair she'd been sitting in. Mary knew he would not refuse her. He had always protested when they were young, but when he sang, she could tell it brought as much joy to him as it did to his listeners. She handed the baby to Mr. Carson after he had settled into the chair. It was the first time Carson had held George since the day he was born. A lump gathered in his throat as he remembered that moment. It had been her last, small, happy moment before he had informed Lady Mary of her husband's death.

Carson was suddenly afraid that he would not have any voice with which to sing. He looked over his shoulder at Lady Mary as she sat in the window seat. She stared out over the lawn. Her eyes grew distant. Carson knew now that he was singing as much to Lady Mary as he was to baby George; the way he would sing to the girls during a storm or after a nightmare when their parents were away. He looked back at the small creature in his great hands and began to sing softly.

_"O the summer time has come  
And the trees are sweetly bloomin'  
And the wild mountain thyme  
Grows around the bloomin' heather  
Will ye go lassie go?_

_And we'll all go together_  
_To pull wild mountain thyme_  
_All around the bloomin' heather_  
_Will ye go lassie go?"_

His singing voice was smooth and deep, even more so than his normal tones. And the higher notes of the tune rang clear and true in lovely contrast to the lower notes of the melody. As he sang to George, he rolled the r's and dropped the g's, bringing the highland accent the song demanded to full front. Something in his voice always made Mary feel secure. Her eyes looked out at the autumn colors beyond the lawn, but her mind saw the highland landscape and the purple hills. They'd spent their last happy days with the smell of heather all around them. After his disappointing day of stalking, Matthew had brought her a bouquet of purpled heather. He had enjoyed Scotland so. He was like a child discovering a new land. She had viewed the familiar fields around Duneagle anew through his eyes; as she'd seen so many things through him in their brief time together. He had shown her so many delights which she had taken for granted before him.

_"I will build my love a bower  
By yon pure and crystal fountain  
And on it I will pile  
All the flowers of the mountain  
Will ye go lassie go?_

_And we'll all go together_  
_To pull wild mountain thyme_  
_All around the bloomin' heather_  
_Will ye go lassie go?"_

Cora handed a yawning Sybbie to Edith, who had begun singing along softly to the chorus. Cora crossed the room to her daughter. She touched her shoulders gently, an unspoken offering of motherly love. Mary felt again like a little girl in the nursery with her mother comforting her after a nightmare. Her life had become a sort of waking nightmare, with George as her only bright ray of hope. Her tears began to flow silently.

_"If my true love should not come  
I shall surely find another  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin' heather  
Will ye go lassie go?_

_And we'll all go together  
To pull wild mountain thyme  
All around the bloomin' heather  
Will ye go lassie go? Will ye go lassie go?"_

Carson's voice cracked on the final word. He could not bring himself to sing another chorus. He could hear Lady Mary crying behind him now. There were tears on his own face. After months of a strong facade, she was finally allowing herself a display of weakness. As far as he knew, it was the first true display of emotions she'd shown anyone since the funeral.

The child in his arms was asleep now, as was Sybbie. Carson and Edith put the children in their respective cribs. Edith touched Mr. Carson's arm in thanks before joining her mother and sister at the window. Mary embraced her, sobbing violently as their mother's arms surrounded them both. Carson instinctively knew he was no longer needed and slowly let himself out into the hallway.

He found himself face to face with Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes, both of whom had tears in their eyes that matched his own. But there was something else in Lord Grantham's eyes that Carson could not place; something darker. It made him nervous.

**A/N 'Wild Mountain Thyme' is a traditional highland tune. Several versions are available on youtube the lyrics vary, but the melody is constant; very simple and sweet. I've been listening to a lot of Kate Rusby lately; her live version from the Cambridge Folk festival is pretty good, except for the folks talking over it at the end.**


	6. Chapter 6

It felt as though they stood silently in the hall before the nursery door for ages. His Lordship recovered first. "Mrs. Hughes tells me there is something the two of you need to discuss with Lady Grantham and me. Obviously, Lady Grantham is indisposed. Shall the three of us go to the library?"

"It can wait, my lord. If you need to…" Carson looked expectantly at the nursery door.

"I don't imagine I'd be welcome in there just now." His Lordship said bitterly.

"I think you would be very welcome indeed, sir." Carson tried to assure him.

Robert was not going to force himself on his family. If they wished to share their sorrow with him, they would ask for him _as they had asked for Carson_. It's not as though they didn't know where to find him. He turned from his family and preceded his two senior staff members down the stairs and into the library. He did not turn to see how reluctantly they were following.

Charles looked at Elsie. This was not how things were supposed to go. They had agreed that appealing to Lady Grantham was their best hope at securing the outcome that they both most desired. Lady Grantham understood the running of the household much more clearly than His Lordship and she was more likely to understand how difficult it would be to replace both butler and housekeeper at the same time. She would also appreciate how well the house had been running in the past few months. It was their best argument towards their goal of both being allowed to stay on in their present capacities. Also, she was not British and might not be as sensitive to the unique nature of such an arrangement.

Still, Charles had known His Lordship off and on since they were both boys, though over a decade separated them. Charles had delivered tea-flavored milk to the young Rosamund and Robert in the very nursery they had just left. Charles thought he could convince His Lordship eventually, but there was something in that look outside the nursery that worried him. His Lordship had looked for a moment as though he wanted to strike Mr. Carson. Charles hoped he had misread the expression, but he thought that it had looked like hatred.

Robert walked to his desk, but stopped short of sitting down. He would not concede the high ground to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. He suspected that he knew what they wished to discuss. Cora had been hinting at it for weeks. Despite himself, Robert enjoyed their looks of discomfort as he let the silence build around them.

Carson finally broke the silence. "Your Lordship, I really believe this should wait until Lady Grantham is available. It will keep until tomorrow. We're sorry to have taken up your time." He hoped very much they would be excused.

"If there is something that you need to discuss, now is the time most convenient for me. We do not need to wait for her Ladyship."

Finally, Mr. Carson nodded at Mrs. Hughes. She nodded back and so, he began, "I hope you will be pleased to hear what I have to say. Mrs. Hughes and I have declared our love for each other and she has accepted my proposal of marriage." At this, she reached out and took his hand. Charles suddenly felt braver.

Lord Grantham made no reply but raised his eyebrows slightly. Mr. Carson took this as encouragement and continued, "We understand this is highly unusual in a household of Downton's stature, but we need to express that neither of us wish to leave Downton. We hope our years of service will be considered in our favor. If you would allow us to stay, we are confident that between the four of us, including Lady Grantham in our number, we can find a way to run Downton just as effectively as we currently do and minimize any impacts on the family."

"Is that all?" Robert asked peevishly.

"Well, that is the main matter, My Lord." Mr. Carson's words stumbled. He wasn't sure what reaction he had expected, but it wasn't this. This was not the reaction of a man who had allowed his valet to marry the head housemaid and had retained that housemaid even after the valet was convicted of murder. This was not the reaction of an employer who had paid for the surgery to repair his cook's cataracts. This was not the reaction of the Lord Grantham that Carson knew.

Carson wasn't sure what this was. He suspected this had to do with what had just happened upstairs_. _Charles looked at Elsie. He saw his own thoughts echoed in her expression. This was not going to plan at all. "Of course there are options and details to be discussed, but that can wait for a more convenient time for Her Ladyship."

_Why had Lady Mary chosen today to have her emotional breakthrough? _Mr. Carson thought. Which led to another thought, _Why hadn't His Lordship joined his family in the nursery?_

The truth hit Charles like a clap of thunder. The look in Robert's eyes was explained. It was not hatred he'd seen in Lord Grantham's eyes; not exactly. _It was jealousy. _

Mary had often been cold and distant to everyone since Mr. Matthew's death, but especially to her father. Carson, who knew this family better than they knew themselves, understood why.

Did he dare try to explain it to Robert now, while His Lordship held Charles and Elsie's future in his hands? He knew it wasn't wise, but the man in front of him was in obvious pain. If Carson could help him, then he must. Every sailor knew you can't sail past a drowning man and not throw him a rope.

"Elsie, love, could you let me have a moment with His Lordship? It shouldn't be long." Her eyes told him she was not happy with this development. This was not the plan. They were to present a unified front. But she acquiesced when he squeezed her hand gently. _Please, love?_ His eyes asked her.

The things he had to say might be embarrassing for His Lordship. As difficult as this conversation was going to be, Carson could at least spare him that.

Mrs. Hughes bowed slightly to Lord Grantham and excused herself.

CE—

"I can't think that there is much else to say, Mr. Carson. You should follow Mrs. Hughes. The two of you apparently have a lot to discuss."

"We do, my lord, but it can wait." Robert was in a peevish mood, this was not going to be easy. "At the risk of being impertinent, would you allow me to advise you?"

Carson chose to interpret the silence as an invitation to continue.

"I really must recommend that you return to the nursery immediately." Still, Lord Grantham did not reply. "You are missing a very rare chance…to mend things with Lady Mary."

"And who says things need any mending?" Robert bristled.

"No one says it. I only know what I observe."

"I don't know what you think you've observed, but you are mistaken. Things are very well between Lady Mary and me."

"I very much hope I am mistaken, My Lord. Even so, I feel very strongly that you should be with your family in this moment."

"You feel strongly?" Robert scoffed at him and turned to gaze out the great windows. "And what am I to say? 'Oh, I heard you were all up here crying and thought I'd join you?'" Behind the sarcasm, Robert sounded pained. Carson thought he might be reaching him.

"You needn't say anything, sir. Not today. Just be with them." Carson risked being more personal. "They need you."

"I doubt that very much." Robert pouted. They'd been doing perfectly fine with Carson; they didn't need _him. They didn't ask for him. _

How could he explain everything to Robert? How could he make him see how much Mary was her father's daughter?

"_She_ needs you." Robert flinched at the words and Carson knew he had over stepped.

"This is none of your concern, Mr. Carson." She had not asked for Robert._ She'd asked for Carson._

Charles knew he should retreat here, but something in him could not let this opportunity pass. "But it is, My Lord. This family is very much my concern. And for the good of this family, I feel I must speak." He felt his tone rising. He had to keep it in check. He wouldn't help anything if he lost his temper, but, god, this man could be so infuriating.

"Well then, perhaps you can tell me what I've done wrong these last two months? Perhaps _you_ can tell me why my daughter won't speak two words to me beyond the most basic pleasantries?"

"I can, my lord, if you will permit me." Carson knew he had to tread lightly here, but he was unlikely to ever get a better chance. Just getting Lord Grantham to admit there was a problem between him and Mary was a big accomplishment. If Carson could make him understand the truth, it would help both Lord Grantham and Lady Mary; two of the most important people in his life.

Carson took a deep breath and plunged in. "You shouldn't mention how much you miss Mr. Crawley."

Robert was aghast. "But I do miss him, as does she. It's one of the things we share. It's our common ground."

"True. In a way... but it hurts her to hear it from you." The first and only enduring blemish on Mary and Matthew's relationship had been her jealousy of how quickly Robert had embraced Matthew as his heir and surrogate son. She still felt betrayed that her father had not fought the entail more strenuously. Carson knew that she had been told that her best option for remaining at Downton was to marry Matthew. Couldn't Robert see how that had devalued her and hurt her? Mary detested being told what to do. Only her deep love for Matthew had overcome her own stubbornness and only her deep love for her father had allowed her to forgive that insult.

"Before she understood what an entailment was, Lady Mary believed that if she was good enough, strong enough, that she could change your mind about the inheritance of Downton."

"But it wasn't my decision." Robert protested.

"She didn't know that. She wasted all her youth trying to prove to you that she could be just as good an heir as any son."

The words were coming quicker now. Carson had to make Robert see the central truth of Mary Crawley; she believed she could never be good enough for her father because she was a daughter and not a son. She believed that without Matthew she was less important to her father. It wasn't something she believed rationally. It was something that all her reason could not convince her to disbelieve.

"She is so very like you, My Lord. She needs to know that you think she is worthy of Downton; worthy of your approval, not because she married Mr. Crawley, but simply because she is your daughter."

He paused here, letting the words sink in. He knew they were painful, but there was relief on the other side of the pain, he hoped.

"But she knows that I love her." Robert sounded like he was trying to convince himself of this fact.

"Yes, she knows that you love her. Parents are _expected_ to love their children. It doesn't hurt to say it, but Lady Mary wants to hear more from you. She needs you to tell her that you are proud of her."

Robert looked confused. "I don't understand."

_Stubborn man,_ "But you should, better than most. Isn't it what you always yearned to hear from your father? Didn't you want to know that he was proud of you for your own sake, not just because you married Lady Cora?" He'd really crossed the line there but it made Charles so angry that this man couldn't see past his own selfish feelings of inadequacy to see that his daughter felt the same. There were fresh tears running down Carson's face now. Robert's eyes were wet, but his cheeks were dry.

"And what would you know about the relationship between a parent and child?"

Carson flinched at this. Robert knew he'd hit below the belt, but it was too late to stop now.

Carson answered angrily, before his better judgment could stay his tongue. "I know enough to see that you need to stop moping about feeling sorry for yourself because your father never told you what you wanted to hear."

_Where was this coming from?_ Part of it was not being able to yell at the staff recently, but Carson knew it was something more. It was over fifty years' worth of frustration of watching this man, to whom everything had been given, hem and haw his way through life. Robert was a good man at heart, but he was idle and prone to ennui, to depression and to what Carson's grandfather had called "poor little me syndrome".

Sometimes, Robert could be a spoiled, privileged twit. And someone should have told him so years ago, for his own good.

Unable to stop what he had begun, knowing you'd lose the patient for certain if you stop halfway through the amputation, Carson finished with a low voice, "Step up and be the man that your family needs you to be. Go to them, Robert."

Red faced and silent, Lord Grantham turned and left the room towards the front hall.

Mr. Carson let out a huge breath and wiped the tears from his face with his handkerchief before returning downstairs. God, Elsie was going to kill him.

**A/N We may have come to the end of the fluffy bits for a while. I hope you will stick with me. I don't hate Robert any more than Carson does, but you must admit, he can be a twit.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N This is a long one, hold on to your hats...**

* * *

Robert walked through the front hall and out the front door, down toward the lake. He was stung and he was angry and he didn't know how he could have responded to what he'd just heard. Carson was supposed to be on his side. Carson had been on his side since he was a boy. Had Carson hated him all this time?

Never mind that everything Carson had said was true. Never mind that all Robert had ever wanted to hear from his father was _you_ _are enough_. The title and the trappings were all very well, but his father's gaze had always made Robert feel like an empty suit of armor. Even now, sometimes, he felt as useful as the fake Roman ruins on the lawn that he now stalked past. Had his Mary always felt the same? Had _he _made her feel that way?

A voice in his head told him to be calm, to listen to the words of this man who knew almost every aspect of Robert's life. But the anger and the hurt were too much. Too much on top of the loss of Matthew. Too much on top of being cut out of Mary's heart. He could not calm the anger rising in him. Why did this man presume to know so much about his family? Why was it any of the butler's business if the last Earl had prostituted his own son to save the family estate? By the time he'd returned to change for dinner, the anger had worked itself into a red humming behind his eyes.

Mr. Bates had only seen His Lordship in a temper like this on two occasions; both during the war and in the heat of battle. After Robert was dressed, Mr. Bates hurried downstairs to warn Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes.

CE—

Dinner that evening was initially a quiet affair. The Dowager Countess had come with Mrs. Crawley, so they were a slightly larger party than usual, but they were as silent as ever. The only conversation came from Rose's attempts to draw Tom into a discussion of Dublin versus London. Rose had known Matthew and admired him, but she was young and loss like this did not have the impact on her that it did on the others. She detested awkward silences. She detested silences of any kind.

"I'm afraid I don't have much experience of London. And my social circle didn't really frequent the clubs in Dublin. Not the clubs you're talking about." Tom was apologizing. He was distracted. He felt there was something off about Robert tonight. And Mr. Carson had not welcomed Tom to the table this evening with an inquiry about his day, as had become their custom.

Cora sensed a tension between Robert and Mary tonight; more than usual, though she felt it was coming more from Robert than from Mary. Cora wished Robert had happened upon them in the nursery this afternoon, but since he never came up there, it had been unlikely. She should have sent for him, she realized now. Robert was the type who needed to be invited. Well, she'd try to include him now.

"The girls and I feel we should plan a family outing, Robert. What would you say to a trip to enjoy some of the holiday delights of London in a few weeks? We couldn't entertain anyone or accept any invitations, of course, but it would be a nice change of scene." Rose certainly perked up at that.

"If you and the girls wish to go, then, by all means, you should." Robert said coldly into his soup.

"Our plans included you, Robert." Cora told him kindly. "And, Tom, you and Sybbie would be welcome too, if you could spare the time away. I think Sybbie is old enough to enjoy a Pantomime. They have so many to choose from in London."

"Yes," Violet huffed, leaning towards Rose. "The local Panto is usually a bit of a hash. And if you are around, you will be expected to attend." She patted Rose's hand sympathetically. "I, unfortunately have other plans that evening."

"When is it to be?" Cora asked across the table. She wasn't aware they'd scheduled the local performance yet.

"I have no idea." Violet stated matter-of-factly. Mary and Edith exchanged eye rolls and smiles.

Robert liked the idea of being in London in the winter with no social obligations. It was the kind of place you could lose yourself very easily. He and Mary had fond memories there of just the two of them stopping at the puppet stalls while toy shopping for the younger girls. The noise behind his eyes lessened somewhat. Maybe in London he could find a moment to speak to Mary. There were fewer places to hide in Grantham House. He began to respond…

"And what do you think, Carson?" Cora continued, "I think we'll be opening Grantham House for at least three weeks. I don't want to impose on Rosamund. Is there a problem with such short notice?"

"Not at all, My Lady."

Robert's reply died in his throat. Did Carson claim joint ownership of everything in his life? Could his family not consider leisure time in London without consulting the Great Butler? His scowl deepened.

"Carson might not want to be away from Downton so long, my dear." Lord Grantham began. He could see the butler straighten up suspiciously after pouring more wine for Tom.

"What do you mean, dear?" Cora asked innocently.

Mr. Bates had warned them that his lordship was in 'a mood' tonight, but Carson hadn't thought he'd sink this low. It was their right to tell their news in their time.

_Not now, not like this!_ Carson's mind was screaming. They'd planned everything so carefully only last night, _nothing left to chance,_ but it had all gone wrong somehow. This was not news to break over the dinner table. At the very least, Elsie should be here. They'd decided that he would ring for her in the drawing room this evening. But the dining room was the worst of all places. It was where Carson felt at his most subservient. He was trained to obey during dinner, more so than at any other time.

To disagree with the master at table is unthinkable. A butler who disrupted dinner in any way was disgraceful. It had taken Carson months to live down the humiliation of collapsing during a meal during the war. He still cringed to think of it, not because he might have died from a heart attack, but because he had soiled one of Lady Edith's dresses and the maids had been forced to serve dinner with a guest present.

"Well, I thought they'd have told you by now, my dear. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are engaged."

"What? To be married?" Lady Violet set down the spoon that had been half raised and looked at Carson incredulously.

He'd have to make the best of it now and try to smooth it over. "Yes, My Lady. We were waiting for the proper time to announce it, considering..." Carson had retreated back to his station by the wine. He was behind Rose, but could see every other face at the table.

"Well there is no time like the present!" Mary gushed, "Oh, Carson, I am so very happy for you both." She made to rise and embrace him, but thought better of it. It was not proper conduct for the dining room and it would embarrass Carson. Then, Mary caught her father's eye and she saw that Robert had not shared this information for their enjoyment. He had an altogether different purpose. She was very worried for Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. She thought it best to stay silent now until she understood exactly what was going on.

"It's not as though we didn't have our suspicions, Carson." Cora beamed at him happily; oblivious to the danger she was walking them all into. "But how did you know, Robert?" she asked, looking across at her husband.

"They told me this afternoon. _After tea_." He let the words hang in the air, willing them to grasp his meaning. Cora, Mary and Edith exchanged wary glances. Had he heard them, then? Why hadn't he joined them? Tom, Rose, Violet and Isobel all felt the tension, though they did not know the source.

"But this is lovely!" Isobel jumped bravely into the breach after a few silent heartbeats that lasted an eternity. Mr. Carson was grateful to her for the attempt, feeble though it was.

Lady Violet knew how to handle things properly. "Carson, you must send Mrs. Hughes up to the drawing room after dinner so we may congratulate her."

"Yes, mum."

"When is the happy date?" Edith asked, trying to keep the conversation rolling in a pleasant direction.

"Mrs. Hughes and I need to discuss that with His Lordship and Her Ladyship, when it is more convenient." Carson said in his most deferential tone.

"Well, I hope it is soon." Rose teased, "You'll be wanting to start a family as soon as possible."

Carson was flustered at this comment. He'd assumed…but could he be sure? Mrs. Hughes was in her mid fifties, so it was possible…Mr. Carson hadn't asked. Already off balance from recent developments, Carson could only respond, "I must admit, we've not discussed children, my lady."

The table erupted in laughter. No one had expected such an answer from Carson. And combined with the dumbfounded expression on his face, it was impossible not to laugh. Violet was trying to look affronted by the vulgar topic, but she smiled at Rose lovingly. The girl really did bring a much needed levity to the family party.

As quickly as the tension had been defused, Robert reinstated it, "But, Carson, you did have some thoughts on children earlier today, did you not?"

Like a man forced to do cartwheels across a mine field, Carson answered, "Only some observations, my lord."

"Yes, he had some illuminating observations about the complex relationships between fathers and children." Robert turned to Mary. She flushed a bit. His rudeness was very distressing to her, but for Carson's sake she would not provoke her father tonight. "I mean, what would Carson know of such matters?"

The Dowager jumped to Carson's defense. "You don't have to be a fish to know the sea is wet." She tried to chuckle at her wit as she usually did, but the sound fell dead.

"Gran, I don't believe fish are aware the sea _is _wet." Edith pointed out, trying to recapture the lighter mood of just moments ago.

"Oh, well then, my analogy is better than I thought." Lady Violet pursed her lips in triumph and turned to look sidelong at her son. Hopefully that would put him back in his place. Why was he being so petulant about something they'd all secretly hoped for? Robert dropped his head and fumed into his wine. Carson wished they would just let the matter drop. They meant well, but did not know they were making an already precarious situation worse.

Thankfully, it was time for the next course, so Carson excused himself to exchange the decanter as James and Albert cleared.

When he returned, Edith was recounting a Pantomime that the girls had tried to stage one Christmas. Everyone was laughing a bit too hard in a forced attempt to banish the unpleasantness. Robert glowered at his plate for the rest of the meal and did not speak again despite their attempts to include him.

CE—

The ladies had gone through and Robert and Tom sat with their cognac and cigars. Tom looked like he wished he could be anywhere else in the world. Carson felt sorry for him, but was grateful for the protection his presence offered.

Mr. Carson had instructed Alfred to tell Mrs. Hughes she was wanted in the drawing room and to deliver a quick note that Charles had scratched out to her between courses. _'They know.'_ It was all the warning he could give her.

After some awkward minutes of sipping and puffing, Tom said, "Well, I think I'll go through now, I promised Edith some cards." He rose and left, hoping this would encourage Robert to follow him. His Lordship remained where he was seated. Instead, Mr. Carson turned to follow Mr. Branson out, hoping to slip out without further incident.

"I did not dismiss you, Carson." Lord Grantham said darkly just before Carson reached the door.

Mr. Carson turned and stood; rooted to the spot like a baited bear waiting for the dogs. In another room not so far away, warm congratulations were flowing out and the ladies were already in a heated debate about the best shops for Mrs. Hughes' wedding clothes.

When they were alone, Robert let the tension build around them. A part of him was enjoying this. The red anger was back now and he needed to release it, or it would consume him. It was time he put this servant in his place.

"I am not pleased with how things progressed today, Mr. Carson." He took a long drag on his cigar and blew the acrid smoke out slowly, lazily as his butler waited dutifully. "You have let the prestige of this house make you vain and the kindnesses of this family make you overly familiar."

Charles Carson knew better than to say anything. If he could just survive this dressing down, there was hope for them. He tried to ignore the ironic indignity of being called vain by the man in front of him. Carson tried instead to focus on the happiness and well wishes that were surely being expressed to Elsie less than 50 yards away from where he stood, stock still. He could vaguely hear laughter on the other side of the two doors that separated him from the drawing room.

"You walk about this place as though you own it, but last I looked, this is still my house and my family; not yours. I am master here." Robert was working himself to a pitch. "You may have given a lifetime to this house, Mr. Carson, but you are more easily replaced than the serving dishes you polish and you would do well to remember it."

Carson looked as though he'd been slapped. It made Robert feel bold and cruel, he felt intoxicated with the power and with the cognac. After feeling so powerless for so long, this felt good. He continued, his confidence growing. Robert thought about all the liberties this man had taken with _his_ family. He thought of the times his wishes had been overruled by the merest glance or grump of the butler. The man didn't even have to speak to usurp Robert's authority! Everyone automatically gave more respect to Carson than they did to Robert. The audacity! He didn't stop to consider that perhaps Mr. Carson had earned their respect whereas Robert had only ever claimed it.

Robert's mind jumped back over twenty years to remember all the letters he'd received during the war; letters from his children, from his mother and even from his own wife. They had been full of this man, this _servant._ It was 'Mr. Carson said this' and 'Carson did that' and 'Carson's a godsend'. It had continued even after he'd returned. Their reliance on their butler had reassured him and injured him at the same time. Somehow, in Robert's absence, Carson had made himself a son to Robert's mother, a father to his children and, dare he think it, a companion to his wife?

"I should have sacked you the day I returned from Africa." _Not this old wound_, a voice inside him warned. Cora had sworn to him nothing had happened. He'd never even mentioned it to Carson. But now, that small cruel part of him wanted to see the man's reaction. Robert had been humiliated at dinner, in front of his family, _by_ his family. He had to lash out. The Madness was already on him. It was too late.

"Did you think I didn't see how comfortable you'd made yourself in my absence?" Robert's voice rose as he stood to confront Charles. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. "You must have thought yourself Lord of the Manor while I was gone. You must have been quite disappointed when I returned."

Carson looked confusedly into Robert's eyes. Did His Lordship truly believe what he was saying? Surely not. This was born from the mood Mr. Bates had warned him about. _Just take it for now_, Charles told himself. _His lordship will apologize tomorrow or the next day, when he's more himself._

"I've never asked you to explain what happened between you and Cora while I was in Africa. I am asking now." At this, Robert poked Carson accusingly in the chest with two fingers, causing the butler to stagger back a half step.

Charles truly did not know how to respond to this. That was over twenty years ago and this was the first he'd heard of anything being suggested between himself and Lady Cora. The shock caused him to speak though he knew he should not.

"And what is it exactly that you are asking, My Lord? Are you accusing Her Ladyship of infidelity? With _me_?" Surely this was some sick joke. His mind was reeling. First he's told that the silver was more valuable than all his years of service and then _this_ baseless accusation.

Lord Grantham continued to look steadily at him. This was no joke. Carson's own anger began to rise now.

"I am insulted by your insinuation; for myself and for Lady Grantham. I will not do either of you the disservice of replying to such a charge. And, I might add," _Oh, mind the temper, man._ "In my experience false accusations tend to spring from guilty minds."

That had struck home. Robert didn't know how much Carson suspected about Jane or how much Bates might have told him about Africa. Over two years was a long time to be away from home. A man has needs. Didn't a woman as well? Or was Robert just projecting his own weakness onto Cora like he always did?

In the reverberating silence of the dining room the two men stood staring daggers at each other. This time, it was Carson who recovered first.

"I have only ever fulfilled my functions as butler, sir. If any of the family has ever turned to me for aid or comfort it was my duty to offer it and I was only too glad to do so. If they turned to me, it was only because they couldn't turn to you. If that means I am guilty of something, I think you must be culpable as well."

Carson turned on his heel and left without waiting to be excused.

* * *

**A/N "MEN!" **

**I still don't hate Robert, but drama needs conflict, so he drew the short straw. I'm trying to keep it in character, but it takes a lot to make Carson angry, so I might have to overshoot a bit but I will try to stop short of a complete character assassination. But I ****_still _****haven't forgiven the whole Jane incident.**

**Stick with me, please. Comments are welcome. I know where we are going, just not how we are going to get there or when.**

**There are some happy moments in the next chapter, I promise. Should be posted by Monday- busy weekend. Enjoy yours.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Another long one…lots of Chelsie.  
**

* * *

Carson was too upset after leaving His Lordship to join Elsie and the ladies in the drawing room. He knew he would never be able to deceive a room full of women, especially women who knew him as well as the Crawleys and Mrs. Hughes. And he wanted Elsie to enjoy her moment. He'd sent Alfred up in his stead. The Dowager Countess always enjoyed teasing him.

Elsie had come down from the drawing room absolutely glowing and had practically jumped into his arms as he waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. She was heedless of the astonished looks from the staff. The ladies of the house were overjoyed at their news, she reported. A weight had been lifted off her mind. It was all smooth sailing from here. His heart broke just a little bit, but, at the same time, he felt hopeful for the first time since they had told Robert about their engagement.

"Why didn't you come in and join the fun, Charles? There haven't been smiles like that in this house since Lady Mary announced she was expecting! Mrs. Crawley offered to take me dress shopping in Ripon. Ladies Cora, Edith and Rose want to take me to London. Lady Violet hugged me, Charles; she actually _hugged _me!" She said astonished, "and I think I hugged her back." Even more astonished.

"And Lady Mary is very sincerely happy for you. She's already making grand plans for our honeymoon." Elsie gushed, "I think we've been thinking too small asking for only a month. Just think of all the places you could take me." She realized how that must have sounded, but rather than be embarrassed, she followed the thought through, "Because, when we are married, you've the right to _take_ me anywhere."

Charles couldn't help but smile at her playfulness. He dared a bit of vulgarity, "Don't worry love, I plan to." Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought. For now, he would focus on Elsie, who was happy enough for the both of them.

From the kitchen entrance a few of the kitchen maids were watching them, still embracing, she standing on the bottom step where he had set her down. Carson heard Mrs. Patmore yell at them to stop gawping and get the servant's dinner ready, but she took a moment to stick her head through the door and wink at Elsie. Charles knew Elsie had told Beryl about the engagement almost immediately. She'd been fearful of the cook's reaction if Beryl had heard the news from any other source.

"You are right, I should have joined you, but I thought you women would be talking about lace and flowers. That's not really my idea of fun." It was the truth. He was starting to feed off her enthusiasm. He knew he would need it to get through the rest of the night.

"And what did the great Lord say?" she wanted to know. The ladies had hinted that he was in 'a mood' tonight. Mr. Bates had said much the same. A shadow passed over his face. Her own joyful mood faltered.

"He'll come around, but he certainly wasn't as pleased as the ladies." Charles managed to deflect her growing suspicions with a deep and earnest kiss. Whatever fears he had for their future, he would not disturb her present joy for all the tea in China.

She pulled away and slapped at his chest playfully. "Charles, not in front of the children." There was giggling from the kitchen.

CE—

"...and so, while we aren't entirely sure how this will affect everything downstairs, we would like to thank you, in advance for your professionalism as we adapt to this new development. I know we can trust in your continued support." Mrs. Hughes finished making the official announcement of their engagement to the assembled downstairs staff at before beginning their dinner.

They all feigned surprise with varying levels of success. Daisy was the least convincing. Charles had almost been overwhelmed when all the kitchen and chamber maids had surrounded him at once, shaking both his hands and crying into their sleeves. He tried to offer his handkerchief, but there were too many of them and his gesture just made them all cry harder, giggle fiercely and scatter._ What is wrong with these girls?_

Mr. Bates shook his hand heartily. "Welcome to the club, old man."

Charles smiled appreciatively, but leaned in so only John could hear, "I'd avoid the subject with His Lordship later. Just so you know."

John nodded his understanding.

The kitchen staff was invited to join the rest of the staff at the table. Extra chairs and plates were brought in and Mr. Carson opened a few extra bottles of wine from his private stock. Mrs. Patmore squeezed in between Thomas and Carson on the left-hand side of the table. They became quite a lively party.

Only Elsie, John and Anna noticed there was something wrong with Mr. Carson. Everyone else chalked his odd behavior up to his discomfort at being the center of attention. They weren't entirely wrong.

Somewhere amongst the countless toasts, which were getting more risque as the wine disappeared, Elsie leaned over to Charles. "Is there something wrong, love?"

He kissed her hand as he answered, "I'll tell you later, love. Just enjoy yourself."

She was still concerned about him, but she couldn't help smiling when she realized they were sitting at their dinner table holding hands and calling each other 'Love'. And then her attention was drawn to a most inappropriate toast in the form of a limerick.

"That's quite enough, James. There are young ladies present." Charles admonished him gently before he reached the final line. Most of the table laughed anyway. They'd already anticipated what Jimmy was going to say. Only Daisy, Ivy and a few of the younger boys looked confused.

Elsie squeezed Charles' hand and smiled down the table at their happy family. He squeezed back and watched her smile. He would need to remember this moment.

CE—

"He did WHAT!?" Elsie was pacing back and forth in her sitting room. She'd become more and more agitated as Charles described both of his recent encounters with His Lordship. He hadn't had time to talk to her before dinner. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she moved. Her face was flush with anger and perhaps a bit more wine than she was used to. Even in his anguished condition, Mr. Carson appreciated how beautiful she was in this state.

"He accused me of having an affair with Lady Grantham while he was in Africa." Carson repeated.

"Well, that's real bold of him, all things considered." She'd had her suspicions about Jane and had shared them with Charles.

"We don't know anything about that, but he did react oddly. I should not have goaded him about it. It was a petty thing to do, but I couldn't help it. I was so insulted."

"And rightfully so. But you know he doesn't believe it. And that insult is nothing to his comparing you to the serving dishes. Did he not apologize immediately?"

"No. He's dug in. There won't be any movement on that front for a while, I'm afraid."

"But we don't have to worry, Charles. All the ladies are on our side," Elsie reminded him. "They're happy for us. His Lordship won't stand up long against them."

"It's his home, love. He shouldn't have something like this forced on him against his will. I'm sure it will blow over, but if it does not, we can't stay where we're not wanted." At this, Elsie turned on him disbelievingly, ready to set him straight. They had the high ground. They had the numbers. They could win this battle!

But one look at him stopped her words in her throat. Charles was staring at his hands, elbows on his knees, looking ashamed. She could see that he was torn. He wanted to fight for them, but there was something stopping him. "I want him to accept us because it's right," _because he's happy for us,_ "not because he was forced to. A man should not be made to feel a fool in his own house."

"Even if he is one?" she shot, but her voice was kinder now.

"_Especially_ if he is one." He looked up into her face now, so ready for a fight, so beautiful.

"I am so sorry, Elsie. God, what was I thinking? I started all this. I was just trying to help. I thought I could help if I made him see the truth, but for some reason, it all came out angry and wrong." She wrapped her arms around him as she sat down next to him.

"Men like Lord Grantham don't want the truth, Love. That's why they have people like us to insulate them. So, what do we do now? "

Charles' face was constricted as though he were in physical pain. He looked like he was trying to balance the whole estates ledgers in his head. He gave a long, resigned sigh, "I hate to do this to you, Elsie, but I think I should leave."

"WHAT?" She stood up and towered over him.

"Just for a little while," he assured her. "I don't _want_ to leave and I'll stay if you ask me to, but I feel my presence at Downton will not help the matter.

"I could hand breakfast and luncheon over to Mr. Barrow and James and Alfred, but, if I remain here, I'll be expected at dinner. If tonight was any indication, neither his lordship nor I will be able to keep things civil."

"We don't have to keep things civil. Just set the old bat on him and clean up the mess after." Elsie suggested hopefully.

"Again, love, this is his house and he has the right to feel comfortable here. And if I'm going to fight, I'll not let the Dowager or anyone else do my fighting for me. Not even you." Carson knew that continued open conflict would just make things worse with Lord Grantham. He'll dig in even deeper. "He gets in this cycle of convincing himself that everyone's against him and his life is so difficult and no one understands. He was the same way when we went to London all those years ago with his father's instructions, 'Find a rich one.' He couldn't be reasoned with. He pouted his way through the first half of the season.

"While I was rude and out of line, nothing I said was untrue. He'll eventually work his own way around to being himself again, if allowed to." _I hope._ "We have to trust to that. If I am here at Downton, it will take him longer, and either he or I will likely say something we can't retract."

"If you think it's the right thing to do, then you should go. But I should come with you." Her voice was firm.

"No, love. Thomas can step in for me easily enough." She scoffed at this. "Well, the wine selections will suffer, but he'll do well enough for the short term. If we both go, things will fall apart completely."

"Ask me if I care." She was still fuming. After all this man had done for that ungrateful…

"Even if you think His Lordship deserves it, the ladies do not. Besides, the extra work will fall to Anna and John and all the downstairs staff. Whatever you may think of the family, I know you care about that." _Damn, he had her there_.

"And we've got to get the Banns read here. I can't order you to do anything, love, but I think it would be best if you could stay on at Downton for at least the next couple of weeks." He grasped her hands as she stood in front of him. "I've put so much on your shoulders, Elsie, please forgive me. I threw a bomb into the middle of our lives and I'm leaving you to pick up the pieces."

There was nothing in his face but concern for her. How could she say no to that expression? "Very well, I'll stay, but only for Anna's sake." She was slowly accepting that Charles knew Lord Grantham best and she would let him do what he thought was best. She sunk back onto the settee beside him. She could tell he'd already given it a lot of thought. It was probably all he'd thought about during their celebration dinner. She rubbed his back soothingly as he took a deep breath. "But where will you go?"

"We have to do it so he saves face and so everyone doesn't know the real reason I'm leaving." Elsie stifled a disapproving murmur. "I'll say I need to visit my uncle in Hull, for health reasons."

"I thought you didn't speak to your uncle."

"Well, he didn't speak to me, at least not while his wife was alive. He's been writing me lately and asking me to visit. This is as good a time as any. I'll stay with the Heaton's, but I'll visit my uncle, so it won't be a lie, exactly."

"Is he sick?"

"He's not exactly sick but he's not well. If we say its health related, that will give us an open time frame. Then, when you think he's calmed down, I can come back. If we let it die out naturally, it might be as little as a week."

"And if it's longer than that?"

"Well, it can't be indefinite. Once the Banns are completed, I'll come back, regardless and we will be married in the Downton church with all our friends present. If he's still unwilling to accommodate us, I can request retirement. He won't dare refuse.

"But just in case, it cannot hurt to rebuild a connection with Uncle Timothy. He and Fredrick are the last family I have. Last I knew they ran a shipping business. Part of it was wine importing. If the worst happens, maybe they need an over the hill clerk who knows a bit about wine. At least I wouldn't need a reference."

"But it's not what we wanted, Charles, not at all." She protested.

"Elsie, love, if we always got what we wanted, I'd have married you decades ago and you'd be the grand lady in a great house like you deserve. But this is our reality and we'll make the best of it, like we always do."

"'When life snuffs out your stove, throw a picnic' You mean?" She tried to laugh, though her heart was breaking.

"Something like that, but with a bit less chaos and a lot more style." He held both her hands in his and brought them to his lips, smiling sadly. He didn't want to part with her, not tomorrow, not ever. But especially, not tonight.

"Elsie, would you spend tonight with me, in my room?"

She flushed bright red, but before she could recover her breath to say 'yes', he added. "It would all be perfectly innocent. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can before I leave. Even if we are both asleep."

CE—

Later that night, she carefully locked the corridor door behind her, sealing herself on the men's side of the door. The light was still on under his door as she walked towards it. She hesitated at the door. It was strange to be standing there without a tray in her hands. Before, she'd always had tea or medicine; some sort of offering to bring. What was she bringing him now? Her heart beat in her throat as she heard him moving about in the room, saw his shadow trace across the threshold. She assumed he was packing. The thought made her eyes sting and water. _No._ He needed her strength tonight, not her tears.

She tapped on the door so the sound would only be audible to someone who had been listening for it as anxiously has he had been. Immediately, the door opened and he gestured her into his room. She abruptly realized that they'd never occupied this room at the same time while he was healthy. He'd always been sitting up in his tiny bed waiting for her visit, looking small and helpless and adorable. Now, he filled the tiny room with a robust presence. She suddenly doubted the wisdom in coming here. What if things went too far? She knew she could never say no to him. She would never want to.

The same thoughts must have been going through his mind because he backed away from her, trying to give her all the space he could. She was in her dressing gown and robe. He was still in his suit pants and shirt sleeves. His packed bag sat on the chair next to his little desk. She could see his pajamas setting on top.

The house breathed silently around them. They understood instinctively that their voices would carry through the thin walls. There would be no speaking tonight. A chill passed through her almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. Jumping to action, Charles showed her his plan wordlessly. He walked to the far side of the room. He put on his own robe over his clothes and sat down on the far side of the bed. He lifted the covers for her. She understood. She slid easily into his bed, from the nearside still wearing her robe over her gown. He grabbed another blanket and placing it over both of them as he lay down beside her still on top of the covers. They were both facing the door. He still had his shoes on, she noticed with a smile. She knew she could never say no to him. She knew she would never have to.

She felt that she belonged here; within his four walls, in his bed, between his sheets, beside him. The pillow smelled of hair cream and aftershave. Maybe she could take his pillow tomorrow and swap it with her own. It would be good to have this to comfort her through the next few weeks.

He reached over her body, careful not to touch her soft curves with his fingers; he covered her right hand and arm with his own. His chest touched her back but he maintained space between them down the length of their bodies. How perfectly she fit there beside him, as though they'd lain together all the nights he had dreamed of her. His nose was within an inch of her still pinned hair. He smiled that she'd left her hair pinned, just as she'd smiled at his shoes. They both knew their limits.

Tomorrow, he had to leave her. He told himself it was necessary, but was it? He honestly didn't see any other way. The decision was made and now they had to see it through. But tonight, he just wanted to hold her, to smell her hair and feel her warmth through the blankets. It was enough for him; for now. In less than three weeks, this beautiful creature would be his wife and there was nothing any Lord or Lady or King or army could do about it.

He risked a single whisper, "I love you."

She sighed her reciprocation. They both drifted off to sleep, storing this feeling of belonging deep in their subconscious memories. Tomorrow still felt so blessedly far away.

**A/N We may be heading for a bit of Chelsie drought, but there are always rain clouds over the horizon so keep the umbrella handy. **

**[Insert shameless ask for reviews here] ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

_Yesterday had been a long day and today will not be any shorter. _She thought, as her eyes fluttered open.

Elsie's inner clock had woken her at 4:45 on the dot. She knew she should rush back to her room before anyone else would be stirring, but she couldn't bring herself to move. They'd both shifted very little during the night. But then, there hadn't been much room for shifting. The chaste space between them had not been maintained, but there were blankets and robes enough between them that the contact was not a distraction. Charles' head now rested, touching hers. His steady, surprisingly silent breathing warmed the base of her neck.

Sometime in the night, she'd put her arm over his and drawn both their hands up to her chest where his hand now lay innocently above her breast. She tried to keep her breathing steady, so as not to wake him. She knew if he woke to find his hand there, he'd probably panic and fall off the bed; waking the whole house in the process. Reluctantly, she pulled his warm, comforting paw away from her and lay it flat on the bed in front of her. He stirred only slightly. She'd always wondered if he was a heavy sleeper.

Elsie wanted to wake him now, to talk to him, to kiss him good morning and stay here with him for the rest of the day. Maybe if she distracted him, he would forget that he was to leave today. But the walls were too thin for talking and she knew she would have to leave as soon as he awoke. And so, she'd lain there awake for almost a half an hour. She still had plenty of time to give a stretching, yawning and half asleep Charles a quick parting kiss and sneak back to her own room beyond the locked door.

CE-

Mr. Barrow had waited at breakfast and Mr. Carson was hoping to find a moment with His Lordship and Ladyship before luncheon. Unfortunately, Lady Cora and the girls had gone to Crawley House immediately after breakfast. Carson suspected it had something to do with arranging for Mrs. Hughes' wedding requirements.

There was nothing for it then, but to talk to Lord Grantham alone. Carson still held out some small hope that he would not have to leave Downton today; _or ever_.

"Might I have a word, My Lord?" Carson faced His Lordship alone this morning. They would be better off without an audience, he thought.

Robert sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. If the weather had only been finer, he'd have gone shooting this morning. He needed a new hiding spot. "Certainly, Carson." He was determined to keep this interaction cold and professional. They didn't want any repetition of last evening's accusations, did they? Robert certainly didn't. _He_ knew that only one of them was unfounded. But a man shouldn't be attacked in his own home. Carson should have known better.

"I hate to disturb you, but I've just heard from my father's brother in Hull. He's not at all well and he's hopeful that I might come and visit him." _All technically true_, Carson reminded himself. "Of course, I do not _have_ to go," he led, hopefully.

Despite his anger with Carson, Robert was surprised. He thought Carson and his uncle didn't speak. Robert couldn't remember exactly, but thought it had something to do with the aunt. A likely excuse, then. The reality was Carson was quitting the field rather than fight him. Robert should have felt happy at this but he did not. Somehow it upset him even more. Now Carson was lying to him. Robert saw that Carson did not want to go, but Robert felt like calling the butler's bluff.

"I'm sure we can live without you for a few days. When shall I tell Lady Grantham you'll be returning?"

"It is difficult to say, My Lord. I don't know exactly in what condition I will find him. I have very few details. I hope it will not be long at all and that he is better off than I've been led to believe." _Still all true; technically. _His Lordship seemed to be in a slightly better mood. _Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to…_

"I must say, Carson. I'm disappointed." Robert wasn't sure what he was doing. _Just let the man go away for a few days. This will all die out. _

Carson was determined not to speak.

"I thought you'd be man enough to apologize for your insolence yesterday, but instead, you choose to run off and hide." His Lordship was shuffling through the papers on his desk. Papers Carson knew he never bothered to read properly. Robert would not even deign to look Charles in the eyes.

"You were expecting an apology? From me?" Again, breaking his sworn silence out of shock and anger.

"Can you deny that your words were insolent?" Here, he looked up, trying to look as imperial as possible.

Mr. Carson's face was stone. His voice was ice. "I cannot, My Lord."

"Then you should apologize." Robert reasoned condescendingly.

Carson's jaw muscles twitched. _Fool, just say that you are sorry and this will be over, _he told himself. But what he said was, "I cannot, My Lord."

"Then, perhaps we should reconsider your future at Downton." The words were out before Robert's brain had processed them_. Damn._ There was no backing down from that without losing face. There was a turf war going on between them and Robert would concede no ground.

Mr. Carson was suddenly reminded of the time Grigg had come to the house to extort money from Charles. His Lordship had disdainfully paid the man off with twenty pounds and had sent him packing. At the time, Carson had been glad of this haughty pride the Earl seemed to be able to draw upon at a moment's notice. Now that it was directed at him, it made Carson feel small and demeaned. He'd miscalculated the depth of His Lordship's anger. He'd also apparently miscalculated his own.

"I will be leaving on the 1:35 this afternoon. Mrs. Hughes will know how to contact me. Barring any unforeseen improvement in my uncle, I shall return on Sunday three week. The Banns will have been read and I shall be returning to make Mrs. Hughes my wife.

"Whether I return as butler of Downton Abbey is entirely up to you. I very much hope you will use that time to your advantage to consider how a _gentleman _repays fifty years of service." His words were dripping with contempt that he made no effort to conceal.

"At that time, I _may_ be open to accepting _your_ apology. Good day, Lord Grantham." For the second time in as many conversations, Mr. Carson left the Earl without being excused.

CE—

He found Elsie waiting just outside the library door. "Well, you didn't burn the bridge entirely, but I'd say it's smoldering a bit." Elsie chided him gently. He hadn't known she would be listening, but he didn't mind. It would save him the humiliation of recounting the conversation.

"I'd say it's more like I doused the thing in petrol and left him standing on the other side with a lit torch."

"You could not have responded otherwise to what he said, but please tell me that's not what you were planning to say all along. If so, we should have discussed this more thoroughly. I think I would have advised you to take a different tack."

"'Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.'" Was all he could think to say. He dropped his hand from her arm and headed for the back steps. He would need to leave soon to catch the train, especially if he wanted time to stop by the church and arrange the Banns. He'd put off his meeting with His Lordship to almost the last moment, hoping Her Ladyship would be back.

"Really, you're quoting Shakespeare to me now? Where was all that wit when His Lordship was talking nonsense?"

"I should have gone with my instinct and just left a note saying it was an emergency." Charles shook his head as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"But you couldn't because that would have been a lie." She reminded him.

"Yes, and unfortunately, 'I want that glib and oily art  
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,  
I'll do't before I speak.'"

"Honestly, enough with the 'Lear' quotes or I'll start calling you Cordelia." She followed him into his pantry.

"Mind you don't become Kent." He warned her.

"Well, at least I can avoid him most of the time. And I thought Lady Mary was bad. I take it all back. It's the father that's the true disappointment."

"You mean he's an uppity minx?" Suddenly, Charles needed to see her smile one more time. She obliged him, but then grew serious as he began to put on his heavy coat.

"No, he's a vain and selfish prig. Which, I suppose, is the male equivalent." She tried smiling again, but couldn't.

Carson thought if Robert was as bad as all that, then what had his own life been worth? "He's not a bad man at heart, just spoiled." _And who wouldn't be, raised up like that?_ Every year the servants would marvel at his birthday gifts. They usually cost over a year's wages and he'd tire of them in less than a week.

In contrast, the very first birthday present Charles had ever received was when he turned twelve. His father had mailed him two pennies from the year he was born and a letter telling him that he was now a man and could keep his wages, rather than sending them home.

Charles had kept those pennies; still had them wrapped in the letter his father had sent with them. He'd kept them with his final letter from his mother and her ring, which Elsie now wore. They were the only possessions he truly valued. The letters meant much more to him than the coins or the ring.

But on his next half day, Charles had used some of his wages to buy an enormous bag of candy in town. He and the other hall boys had gotten sick from all the peppermints and toffees they ate. It was a good day. Charles wondered if Robert has ever known such a day as that as a boy. But then his anger rose suddenly; anger at Robert and at himself. Robert didn't know a day like that because he'd never earned a penny in his life. _He's never earned anything in his life, only spent money and married money and lost money and had money dropped into his lap. How do you learn the value of anything? Especially people._

"Don't go defending him. Not now." Elsie warned him, buttoning up his coat for him.

"Don't worry, I will not." he assured her.

When his coat was fully buttoned, it was time for him to leave. He wrapped his arms around Elsie and kissed her sweet smelling hair.

_Fifty years of service, _he thought._ Fifty years of standing by like a piece of furniture and watching this family tear at each other over trivialities. Twenty years of denying how much I loved this incredible woman, stupidly thinking that I was doing my part to support The Empire. Stupidly thinking my service was appreciated and would be rewarded. And I throw it away in the span of two days. And for what? To try to make a spoiled man see how much he's been given? To try to make him realize how much his family needs him?_ All he could say was, "God, Elsie, you've promised yourself to a fool."

"Yes, but he's the sweetest fool I've ever known." She rested her head on his great broad chest; letting a few unruly tears fall onto his thick coat. Finally, she forced herself to look up at her man. He leaned down to kiss away her final tear before it fell. Then he kissed her lips. They lingered there, sharing the salty taste of her tear between them.

"Hurry home, love." She managed to whisper as they broke apart.

He could not speak. Pressing his lips one last time to her forehead, he turned away, put on his hat, picked up his valise and left her standing there. She heard the back doors open and close, first the inner, then the outer. A few seconds later she felt the cold air blowing down the hall and into his pantry. Oddly enough, she no longer felt like crying. She had no doubt of his return, no doubt of his love.

CE—

Charles Carson walked slowly towards the village. It was not raining, but there was a heavy winter mist in the air. He had paused before stepping through the gate that marked the official boundary of the Grantham estate. Was he leaving for good this time? He'd be back to the village for the wedding, but he did not know if he'd be welcomed back to the house.

Carson remembered the first time he'd left Downton. He had been going to Hull on that occasion as well. He had been thirteen years old, almost fourteen. He had received a letter from his uncle telling him of his father's death; lost overboard during a storm. The body had been recovered. His grandfather had retired and died two years earlier, within the space of four months. Charles was going to live with his bachelor uncle in Hull, his last remaining family.

Before he had left, he had been scrubbed even cleaner than usual and presented to Lady Violet upstairs. She had given him a gold sovereign and advised him to get the best education he could. "You've a bright and ready mind, Charles. Cultivate that by reading even if you cannot continue school. You have been a good and loyal servant. As long as I am mistress of Downton, you will always find a welcome here."

It had been many years later, after his first attempt at civilian life, but he had taken her up on her offer and she had made good.

Stupidly, Carson looked back up the drive, hoping to see a car tearing down it, chasing him down the way his lordship had run out after Mr. Bates. He thought about putting his tail between his legs and going back. He could just walk in and request the cottage and retirement that they were both due. If he did it in Lady Grantham's presence, they could not be refused. But they didn't want to retire. They still had years of usefulness left. He and Elsie would drive each other mad within a few months with nothing but inactivity before them. Some people were simply not designed for leisure. Charles Carson was one of them. Elsie Hughes was another. It was one of the things that bound them most closely to one another. They simply did not understand idleness.

No, he was doing this for Elsie. He knew himself too well. He was still angry. If he returned, it would not be long before he said something he could not take back. He wasn't entirely sure he hadn't already. Best they have a little time apart; he and Lord Grantham.

He would miss Elsie terribly, indeed, he already missed her. But it would be much less time than when he left for the Season and the end of this separation would be the beginning of their life together as man and wife. With this happy thought to drive him forward, Mr. Carson turned once more towards the village church and the train station. The mist turned to drizzle.

CE—

Cora had finally tracked Robert down by the lake where he was idly throwing a training decoy into the water for Isis. It was raining heavily now, but neither master nor dog seemed to notice.

Cora had heard about Carson leaving immediately upon returning from Crawley House. Mr. Barrow had greeted her and the girls at the door. He told them that Mr. Carson had left indefinitely due to a family illness. The events of the previous evening, combined with the smug look on Mr. Barrow's face had set off alarm bells for all the ladies. They'd gotten what few details they could, but even without knowing everything, Cora was sure Robert had something to do with this development.

"What have you done, Robert?" she demanded, glaring at him from under her umbrella.

He looked at her with a dazed and empty expression. "I'm not really sure. Either I accepted Carson's resignation, allowed him a leave of absence or sacked him outright. It's all a little hazy just now."

"Hazy? This is a man's future you're talking about! Can't you be sure of what was said?" she pressed.

Robert shook his head.

"And you did this because….?"

Robert shook his head and shrugged. Not for the first time in their marriage, she wanted to slap him. "You cast off a loyal friend for no reason? I can't believe you would do that, Robert!"

He knew he was in the wrong, but hearing it from Cora was not helping. He also knew that if he faced Carson right now, they'd end up having the same conversations they'd had the last two days. Neither of them was going to be able to forgive some of the things that had been said anytime soon. Maybe a cooling off period was the best idea.

"But I thought he and Mrs. Hughes were just going to ask for our opinion for when they should marry. How did things go so wrong? Why didn't you wait for me? We agreed they shouldn't have to wait until our mourning period was over. We could even get them a special license if they wanted. Didn't you tell him that?"

He sniffed at this. If Cora knew anything about Carson and Mrs. Hughes, she would know that they'd consider a special license as improper. They'd want to do everything by the book. They'd insist on reading the Banns. "_We_ didn't agree to anything. You decided. My opinion was never sought." He reminded her bitterly, reminding himself of the great injustices done to him.

"Because you were acting like an ass." she reminded him. "I really had hoped you'd be over it by this evening so we could congratulate them together, properly. But instead I find you have sent him off to East Riding."

"I didn't send him anywhere. He asked to go."

"You can't really believe that. That man hasn't taken a breath of air in the last twenty odd years without first considering you and this family." She was shaking her head and muttering to herself in disbelief. "Does this have anything to do with Mary? This all started yesterday when you overheard us in the nursery. Why didn't you come in? You should have joined us. We needed you there."

_We needed you there._ How those words stung him.

"Well," Cora continued, "you wanted Mary to speak to you. Just wait until she hears you've sacked Carson. You shall be getting an earful, I've no doubt.

"And whatever will your Mama say?" Robert wondered how long he could avoid his mother. The grounds of the estate were quite large and she hated going by the lake in winter because the cold damp seeped into her bones.

"I don't think I sacked him. He'll be back. He has to come back for Mrs. Hughes."

"Why? Are we holding her for ransom? You know very well that she might decide to leave at any moment. We don't keep her shackled in the basement. Robert, please tell me what has passed between the two of you. There has to be a way we can make this right."

"I'm sure there is, but not today. He's already gone and we could both do with the space. Things were said. We, each of us, have things to work through."

Robert was hurt and petulant, but he didn't seem to be truly angry with Carson. Not now, anyway. Robert's moods could be so mercurial. This capricious behavior comes from being spoiled, Cora knew. She'd seen it often enough in Robert, in her daughters and, if she were being completely honest, in herself. At least things weren't as bad as she had first thought. Still, she was concerned. "But where will he go? This is the only home he has."

"He has gone to Hull."

"And who or what may I ask is in Hull?"

"An uncle and a cousin."

"And when will he be back?"

"He didn't say exactly. Three weeks from Sunday at the most, I think. I shouldn't worry. He's left Downton before. He always finds his way back." Robert tried to sound nonchalant.

"You talk about him like he's a dog, Robert. He's a grown man who has given years of service to this family; to you. He may have left before, but he's never left like _this_ before."

"No, he hasn't" Robert admitted.

She turned and strode back towards the house, leaving him standing in the driving rain with Isis waiting patiently at his feet for him to throw the decoy again.

**A/N Thank you for the reviews and for confirming that Chelsie readers are the best! We get the angst and the slow burn. But still, I promise they won't be apart for long.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

The Sunday after Mr. Carson left, most of the staff had sat in the back of the church that morning staring fire right through Lord Grantham as Mr. Travis read the Banns. The staff was usually too busy to attend Sunday services regularly or in great numbers, but they'd made a special effort today and had come out in force to support Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson. Tom, Mary, Edith and Rose sat with the staff rather than with the family.

"I publish the banns of marriage between Elsie Hughes of Downton parish and Charles Carson, also of Downton parish. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it."

Of course, Mrs. Hughes had not been present, since it was considered bad luck for the bride or bridegroom to be present at the reading of the Banns. Mrs. Hughes had expressed to Cora that she would be avoiding any contact with His Lordship for the foreseeable future. Cora agreed this was for the best. Mr. Carson had now been gone two days.

While the atmosphere downstairs was near mutinous, the atmosphere upstairs was openly hostile. Mary was now taking her meals in the nursery with George. Edith and Rose had suddenly decided to go stay at the Dowager House for a few days. Tom found he had estate business that took him away most of the day and especially at meal times.

Everyone was avoiding Robert as best they could. Mary knew she had nothing productive to say and, for Carson's sake, was wisely trying to avoid aggravating the matter. Cora was pleasantly surprised by this approach and encouraged it. But it had not stopped a confrontation between father and daughter. All day on Saturday Robert had sought her out, trying to force the issue. He could not stand to have Mary upset with him. This was even worse than before. He was trying to find a way to say he was proud of her; trying to follow Carson's advice without admitting that he was doing so.

Finally, he'd caught up with her as she was escaping up the main stairs to the nursery. "Carson will be back when his uncle's health improves," Mary rolled her eyes grandly at this lie no one believed. Ignoring her reaction, Robert continued, "There's nothing I can do to bring him back sooner."

"No? You think not?"

"No." Robert insisted.

"How about a bloody apology?" She'd finally spat at him.

"An apology for what?" Robert had stupidly asked standing at the base of the great staircase.

That had done it. She could hold it in no longer. Mary turned on the stairs and glared at him. "For WHAT? Even you cannot possibly be that thick!" She began to slowly descend the stairs towards him, emphasizing each reason with another step. "To start with,how about apologizing for ruining his engagement announcement? For ruining the engagement itself? For bullying him out of his own home? For resenting his loyalty to your family? For making him do all the work of a father while you claimed the title?" They were toe to toe now, with her up one step from the landing they stood eye to eye. "For making him tell me that Matthew was dead when you didn't have the strength to face me?"

"Carson has never demanded a damn thing from this family. All he's ever asked was for the respect that he has earned. And you can't even give him that." Mary finished twisting the knife. Robert dropped his gaze in shame. Mary turned and headed back up the stairs. She had always known that in some ways her father was a weak man. She'd always tried to hide her disappointment from him because he was also a good and kind man. But this was too much. She'd simply snapped and had just done exactly what she had tried desperately not to do. Mary knew that she was sometimes as weak as her father. She regretted her words, but could not take them back. Mary knew that with this outburst she had injured both the men who had raised her.

After his encounter with Mary, Robert had finally admitted to Cora the thrust of his conversation with Carson and the accusation that he believed had ultimately driven the butler away. Cora forced herself to remain calm. She would not be able to mend things if she said she agreed with everything Carson had said, though she suspected that Robert had not told her quite _everything._

"Oh, Robert, you _didn't_." She admonished him. "I explained that years ago. Yes, O'Brien walked in on Mr. Carson holding me. Mrs. Hughes was there as well and she didn't think there was anything sinister in it.

"He had just delivered the telegram that said you'd been wounded, but not seriously, and that you were coming home. I was so relieved, I almost collapsed. Carson caught me. Mrs. Hughes and O'Brien came in at that exact moment; with the tea that I had just rung for and the shawl I'd requested. I'd be a pretty sorry adulteress if I arranged for multiple witnesses in the middle of a tryst."

"But you did once confess that you were attracted to him; just after Edith was born." He pressed her, wanting to believe there was some justification for his accusation.

"If I recall correctly, that was just about the time you and I realized that we actually loved each other. But I did not say I was _attracted _to him. I said he was the reason I accepted your invitation to visit you at Downton and the reason that I let you chase me to Italy."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. There is."

She had told him that. And it was true. Cora Levinson had been rich and beautiful and had her pick of admirers in her season in London. She could afford to be as shallow and frivolous with her choices as any man. After a few weeks in London and a few visits to country manor houses, Cora realized that there was a direct correlation between the appearance of the servants and the magnificence of the family estate. The best estates quite simply had the most distinguished servants.

She sent her lady's maid, Miss Brown, on a mission to find out which young men had the most impressive valets. Cora was determined to choose from amongst them. There were several other candidates, but Miss Brown reported, and Cora confirmed, that Charles Carson, of Downton Abbey and Grantham House was the most impressive valet to be found. He was tall, broad and, at that stage in his life, very trim. He also had a magnificent mustache that was waxed to perfection. And those eyebrows...

It was only owing to the grandeur of his valet that Cora even gave Robert a second glance. She thought Downton Abbey must be very great indeed to boast such a man as valet to the young master. And she had been correct. Robert was cute, but he was a bored, inattentive suitor most of the time. And whenever she'd seen him early in the season, he was downright sour. It was clear that he had a distaste of competing for attention. But once Cora got Robert on his own, he was much more charming. Once he realized how rich she was, he was even more so.

"Honestly, Robert, the man has been in the same house with the woman that he loves above all things for twenty years and has been an absolute gentleman for all but the last two months, when the most risqué thing he's probably done is propose to her. You think he'd betray you and the family for some fling with a lonely Countess?"

Of course, Cora conveniently left out the part about how a lonely Countess might have responded had a certain butler ever given her any encouragement. No, she thought, she would never have cheated on Robert. But she wouldn't have objected to being held. _Would that have been considered cheating?_ To Cora, Carson was a protector, not a lover. His strength and constancy had seen her and her family through those difficult and lonely years and through more years after that, much more difficult and sometimes as lonely. But there had never been anything improper between them.

Carson gave his time selflessly to her and the girls in a way Robert never seemed able. She sometimes felt like she and the girls were an imposition and a disappointment to Robert, even though he professed they were not. They were a constant reminder that she had not given him a son, which weighed on all of them; Robert and Mary most especially.

Mr. Carson, on the other hand, grumbled loudly about not being a nanny and gruffed about having real work to do, but always seemed to truly give the girls his full attention whenever asked. They adored him for it.

During the war in Africa, the West Yorkshire regimental wives met often, commiserating over biscuits and tea or something stronger. The war grew more unpopular as it drug on so the wives of the officers had turned to each other for support. The African campaign had not been like the more recent war where it felt like officers could pop over from France for tea one afternoon and be back in the trenches the next day. It took almost a full month to travel by ship to Cape Colony. Shortly after arriving, Robert had written to let her know he was unlikely to come home on leave until the regiment was recalled.

Cora knew several of the wives had affairs while their husbands were away, some with their footman or butlers. The women always made very suggestive comments about she and Carson on the occasions when she hosted the gatherings. Things like, 'Could I borrow your butler, Cora, after you're done with him?' or, 'Is your butler very handy around the house, Cora?' or, 'Do you have another one like that _up_stairs?' Thankfully, he had never overheard any of their teasing. Most of it was empty and harmless, but there was one of the wives she made sure was not invited back to Downton after her first visit; one she knew had several lovers. Cora had not liked the way the woman had be ogling _her_ butler.

After some of those events, and almost exclusively on the occasions where the ladies preferred wine to tea, Cora had fantasized about taking comfort in his huge embrace. She had once gone so far as to think of feigning an injury when he was around so he would have to carry her. Luckily, the wine wore off before she carried through on the plan. But even then, she had just wanted to be held by someone she trusted. She would never have tried to seduce him or go further than an embrace.

Carson was never anything more to her than a strong, comforting presence, like an older brother or an uncle. Cora realized now that she did love him, as the girls loved him, as Robert loved him, if he could just admit it. She realized that Carson was as important to her family as Violet or Rosamund. And now Robert had driven him away.

Sitting at the table now, Cora wondered how Robert dared eat anything. She had made some peace with Mrs. Hughes yesterday, assuring her that Robert would be brought around by the time the three Sundays were past. But even she was a little afraid of what might be in the food they were being served. After all, Mrs. Patmore was not as reasonable as Mrs. Hughes.

She pushed her fish around her plate with little appetite as the thoughts played through her head. She had an idea of how to restore some temporary tranquility to the house.

"Robert, perhaps you should stay at your club for a week or so." Cora suggested, looking at Robert across the table. It was odd seeing Thomas' obsequious face over his shoulder rather than Carson's reassuring visage. "It will be at least a week before we can open Grantham House, but you should go ahead and enjoy London." At least Edith and Rose would come home and Mary could join her for dinner.

Just then, Robert choked on a rather large fish bone. One couldn't say for sure if the oversight was intentional, but there had been no bones in Cora's piece of fish.

"Yes," he said, drinking some wine to wet his throat. "I think that is an excellent idea." He had been wondering how he would survive the next few weeks as his family, his staff and his very house plotted to kill him. He suspected Mr. Barrow had chosen this wine on purpose. It was a horrible pairing, far too sweet with the fish.

CE—

It was less than a week after Mr. Carson left, and downstairs was already in an absolute shambles, by their normal standards. Mr. Carson would have said they were on the edge of The Abyss, but it wasn't quite that bad, Elsie thought. Not yet.

The mild chaos below stairs was nothing to the maelstrom upstairs, so a few pillows left unfluffed or an undusted frame or two weren't going to ruin anything. Frankly, Mrs. Hughes doubted the family would even notice if the curtains were on fire.

The housekeeping portion of the duties was being seen to as always. She was proud of how well her girls were handling the stress and went a bit easier on them. They could do a deeper cleaning when the family left for London and took most of the tension with them. Hopefully, Mr. Carson could return by then.

Anna and Beryl's unwavering support helped smooth things over for her. With all the work to keep her occupied, she'd hoped she wouldn't have time to miss him like she did when the family went to London, but somehow this was worse. She was running the house without him and it just felt wrong. Everything reminded her that he was not here. It was worse than when he was in London.

Mr. Barrow was back to the form he'd displayed during the war after first taking over the management of Downton. In short, he was an annoying, entitled despot. Never mind that everyone knew their job, he was constantly correcting the tiniest thing to assert his dominance. The staff had taken to calling him Little Sergeant Barrow behind his back. Mrs. Hughes knew she should discourage this, but found that she didn't care.

Mr. Carson was demanding and perhaps overreacted on occasion, but he never criticized when it was not warranted. Mr. Barrow invented things just so he could remind everyone who was the cock of the walk. Elsie had protected her girls as best she could and Beryl had all but thrown Thomas out of her kitchen so the bulk of the petty displays of authority fell on the footmen and hall boys. Jimmy and Alfred were still doing an excellent job, but their morale was very low. Unfortunately, there was no one for Mrs. Hughes to ask to take Thomas down a peg. It would have to come from His Lordship and Elsie had so far successfully avoided him.

One day, Jimmy surprised Mrs. Hughes by knocking on her door. "Come."

"Mrs. Hughes, I'm sorry to disturb you, but might I have a word?" He came a few steps inside her room, tentatively.

"Certainly, James. Come in, sit down. Would you like a bit of tea?" She still had not figured this boy out. He completely confused Charles, being an odd mixture of confidence and needy insecurity. He just didn't know who he was yet. He was bright but perhaps a bit lazy. Elsie suspected he'd coasted most of his life on his appearances. You didn't have to be rich to be spoiled, she supposed.

"No, thank you, I won't stay long. I was just wondering if you'd heard anything from Mr. Carson."

She was touched by his interest, though she suspected it was selfishly motivated. "I have. He's still visiting his uncle. He's not sure how much longer it will be. Was there something particular you needed from him? Or from me?"

Jimmy shifted awkwardly in the chair he'd taken. It reminded her of how Charles would act when he was unsure of something. "I know this may sound strange, but could you please ask Mr. Barrow to call me 'James'? Somehow, it doesn't feel right for the acting butler to call me 'Jimmy'."

"But I thought you preferred 'Jimmy'? I actually meant to ask you if you wanted me to stop calling you 'James' while Mr. Carson was away."

"Oh, please don't. I didn't like it at first, but somehow it makes me feel more professional." His parents had always called him 'James', it felt nice to feel like someone was taking him and his future seriously again. He realized now that being called 'Jimmy' made him feel trivialized.

"I shall speak to Mr. Barrow about it, James. And about other things, as much as I can. Hopefully, it won't be relevant much longer. I am sorry you and Alfred have been so affected by Mr. Carson's absence. You are both doing very well, all things considered."

"Could you send Mr. Carson my regards when you next write to him?" James asked awkwardly.

"Certainly, James. I will remember you to him in my next letter."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." James left her sitting room with a small smile on his lips. Mrs. Hughes would settle Thomas down, he knew. James didn't like being at odds with the under-butler. Hopefully, Mr. Carson would be back soon and they could just go back to being friends again.

After he left, Mrs. Hughes pulled out the letter she had just finished and added a post script.

_P.S. James asked to be remembered to you and hopes you will return soon. As I've mentioned before, you are much missed and not only by your devoted, Elsie._

* * *

**A/N- I expanded the Mary portion a bit for BrittanyLS, who requested Mary or Violet rip into Robert. It did feel good to give it to him with both barrels.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

November, 29th, Kingston upon Hull,

Dearest Elsie,

I cannot say how much I enjoyed your last letter. I find such comfort in your soft cursive hand. I must admit that I traced each line with my fingers; knowing how lovingly you had written them with your delicate pen only a few days before. I fear I am becoming sentimental in my exile.

Thank you for passing along the supportive words from Lady Mary, Mr. Branson, The Bates' and other staff. I was surprised by James' inclusion in your last letter. I would have thought he would flourish under Mr. Barrow's administration. Well, wonders never cease, as they say. Please tell Mrs. Patmore that she must not compromise her cooking to avenge me. It might reflect poorly on herself or Daisy.

I am encouraged by your account of your conversation with Lady Grantham. I almost feel sorry for His Lordship, faced with so much animosity, that he must decamp to London, but I am not yet ready to forgive the insults of last week. Please tell Anna how very sorry I am that my problems with His Lordship have caused a separation between her and John. Hopefully, the family will follow to London soon.

It was naïve of me to think my leaving would have no impact on the staff. I am glad to hear you have put Mr. Barrow in his place for the time being, but I doubt he will stay there.

Speaking of Mr. Barrow, I am sorry to hear the wine pairings have been so atrocious, though not astonished to hear that it is so. Tell Mr. Barrow he should use my cellar notebook. It has all the family's favorite wines noted and what dishes they best compliment. It also has some suggestions for some of Mrs. Patmore's tried and true menus. If he sticks to this, he should be fine. And please advise him if he doesn't know the difference between the Tokay Aszu and the Tokai Friulano he should not serve either. They have both been scarce since the war and I'd hate for them to be wasted on the wrong course in his ignorance. I wish I had given you the cellar key, but it would not have been fair to expect you to fight off Mrs. Patmore on the one hand and Mr. Barrow on the other.

I am pleased the Banns are proceeding well. I certainly hope none of my previous wives get wind of it... Only two Sundays more.

I am trying to be useful and stay busy here in Hull. I have shown Suzanne several of your housekeeping tricks. I don't know if she is just humoring me or if she is finding them useful. She did like the trick with the clothes pins, and I have seen her use it when she does not think I am looking, so I think it was genuinely helpful. I will be joining Nathan on the boat tomorrow and am looking forward to some physical work. I have felt so idle and restless. I must be driving Suzanne mad in her own home. She must be growing tired of hearing me speak about you, but it is the one topic that buoys my spirits.

The only other topics in this house are the weather; cool, crisp and clear, thank you; and which boats found the largest schools of fish today; not Nathan's. Both topics are very essential to life here, but I miss our talks of literature and music and the linen rota. The air is full of fish smells and the soot from the boats. I miss the smell of polish and lemon and lavender. Above all things, my love, I miss you.

Some of the boat names are quite humorous. I will try to remember a few of the cleverer ones in future letters. The only name I can remember right now is the Belle of Argyll, since it reminded me of you. It is a lovely little tug that guides the larger ships up the river. They have even painted a band of tartan around the smoke stack.

I have seen my Uncle Timothy and Cousin Fredrick. Fredrick has been very friendly and is a jolly soul. He laughs easily and loudly. You would like him. Uncle is rather frail, but he is as gentle as I remember. I have been joining them for tea or dinner almost every other day. It is nice to have family again.

Their business is much larger than I ever imagined. There is a small project that I've been helping Fredrick with in the evenings. I believe they would be able to find work for me if it comes to that, though I hope it does not. Still, it is nice to know we have options.

I must end now, or the poor courier will strain himself delivering this letter. I shall write again tomorrow.

Always and ever yours,

Charles

P.S. I came across this poem. I know how you enjoy Ms. Brontë. I am counting the days until I call you 'Wife'.

_Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;  
Lengthen night and shorten day;  
Every leaf speaks bliss to me  
Fluttering from the autumn tree._

_I shall smile when wreaths of snow_  
_Blossom where the rose should grow;_  
_I shall sing when night's decay_  
_Ushers in a drearier day._

_E.J. Brontë_

CE—

The day after His Lordship and Mr. Bates had left for London, things had calmed and the household was running smoothly enough for Elsie to visit the Dowager House as she'd been invited to do 'at her leisure'. Elsie had found that phrase amusing. _I know as much about leisure as the Dowager Countess knows about weekends. _She laughed to herself.

Elsie had left over Mr. Barrow's protestations that she was needed. She'd caught him up short on that. "You are serving luncheon to the three young ladies today, Mr. Barrow. If you cannot handle that without me, I suggest you look for a different line of work." It was just Thomas trying to throw his weight around again and she had reached her limit of tolerance. Her eyes asked him if he was ready to go toe to toe with her. His eyes said that he was not.

As she walked, she felt his most recent letter in her dress pocket. He was getting sentimental in his exile, but then, so was she. At first glance the Brontë poem had seemed melancholy, being about death and dreary days, but she'd quickly understood why it spoke to him. Around her, the trees along the village road were dropping the last of their yearly burdens. Each leaf that fell was like the tick of a clock counting down the time until they would be together again. _Even in winter's dreary days, there can be joys, if we only accept them._

When she reached the Dowager House, Mrs. Hughes was ushered into the sitting room swiftly and efficiently. Whatever Mrs. Hughes thought of the Dowager Countess, she had always run her household with a silent efficiency that Elsie admired. Whenever Mr. Carson spoke of 'the proper way' to do things, he meant the Dowager's way.

Elsie now faced, the three headed beast of Cora, Violet and Isobel, a sort of Crawley Cerberus. They all looked at her with differing levels of concern and kindness.

"We've next to no time for planning, Mrs. Hughes, so I'm afraid we've taken some liberties in your absence," Cora opened the proceedings.

Over the next hour, Elsie was told all about her wedding. She might have taken offense at their presumptions, but she was oddly touched. They were taking as much care with her wedding as they had with Lady Mary's or Lady Edith's, though there was much less time. Elsie suspected this was more owing to their respect for Mr. Carson than for her, especially on the Dowager Countess' part, but she was touched nonetheless.

The date was set with Mr. Travis for Monday, December 12th. The Wedding Breakfast would be held at the Dowager House and none of the Downton staff would be required. The combined staffs of the Dowager House and Crawley House would be supplemented by staff from the Grantham Arms. Mr. Molesley would be excused from his duties from Crawley House long enough to attend the service.

There was no detail too small but that they had not already addressed it. All they really needed from Elsie was to choose the bridal party, schedule a dress fitting and relay any questions or information to Mr. Carson.

"The girls have insisted on handling the flowers and I am afraid are being very secretive." Cora told Elsie when the subject arose.

Finally, they came to the part of the planning that was the most problematic.

"And _after_ the reception? Where are Mr. Carson and I to go?" It was unclear if things would be resolved between His Lordship and the butler by then. His Lordship might take it ill if the ladies presumed too much and set the Carson's up in an estate cottage.

"Perhaps we should just plan to take a room at the Grantham Arms?" Elsie suggested. The shocked and almost disgusted looks on their faces told her this would be unacceptable.

"I have a solution." Isobel piped up. "I shall give you Crawley House for the days immediately after the wedding. I can vacate for a few days. That will allow us to plan for the wedding night," Elsie blushed here, "and will not get Robert's feathers in a ruffle."

"You can stay at Downton, Cousin Isobel," Cora suggested.

"Or you would be welcome here," Lady Violet surprised them all with her offer.

"Well, that's all settled then. Wonderful." Cora exclaimed, gathering her things. "I hate to leave you, but I have promised to run an errand for Lady Mary.

"You do understand, Mrs. Hughes, that, while I agree with you and Mr. Carson on many things, I will not cross His Lordship in this matter. The girls and Lady Violet and Mrs. Crawley will handle the wedding arrangements with my blessing, but publicly, I must stand with Lord Grantham. I hope you do not hold it against me, as there is no quarrel between you and I."

"As you say, your ladyship, this is a matter between his lordship and Mr. Carson." Even if he were in the wrong, Elsie would side with Mr. Carson, and often had. She did not fault Her Ladyship for supporting her husband. She realized the difficult position Lady Grantham was in and sympathized. "Unfortunately, we both seem to love stubborn men, m'lady." Cora patted her hand gratefully at this before she rose to leave.

Elsie wondered if she should excuse herself now, but the Dowager Countess ordered another round of tea and cakes brought in, so she felt obliged to stay. She was actually enjoying herself. She had always gotten along with Mrs. Crawley rather well, even if she didn't always agree with her progressive thinking. And, Elsie would admit this to no one, especially Charles, she was even enjoying the Dowager's company today.

After some small chatter of village gossip, the Dowager finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"So, how are we going to make peace between our stubborn Lord and our stubborn butler?" She looked at Elsie over the top of her tea cup.

Elsie had been anticipating this question and had a ready answer. "All Mr. Carson requires is a sincere apology."

"Well, Isobel, it seems you may have houseguests for some time." All three ladies smiled at this comment, albeit sadly. Violet found it difficult to comprehend Robert's current conduct. She had not seen him before he left for London. She had not tried to. Violet was torn. Of course, she could not condone his actions, but, on some level, she felt responsible for her son's current behavior. "I can't imagine what has gotten into him. He was such a good child, I fear I indulged him." It was her attempt at an apology.

Elsie had not planned to say anything against His Lordship; not to his mother. But the Dowager Countess had opened the conversation so Elsie continued it. "Mr. Carson says he acts this way sometimes because he's bored." Elsie spoke cautiously, "With all due respect, I've heard of Earls who actually _do_ things. There's one over in Egypt right now, searching for lost pharaohs. Others have explored the Arctic and the Antarctic. They do more than stalk around their estates sighing and wondering why life is so damned dull." That was perhaps going too far, she backpedaled quickly.

"I mean, look at the two of you. You both seem to stay occupied with various causes or boards or running your house. What exactly does Lord Grantham _do_? Mr. Branson runs the estate, Lady Grantham runs the house, there's nothing _left _for him to do."

Isobel carefully noted, "He does rather put the _idle_ in the 'idle rich'."

The Dowager considered this carefully. "The Earls of Grantham have usually been rather active. His grandfather bred horses and dogs. His father liked to travel and collect rare books from around the world…"

"And he established the hospital," Isobel added.

"I'm afraid the money issues of the estate dominated things when he was young and Robert never seemed to find a passion to fill his time after things were settled. I guess he likes shooting things, but I don't think he even talks to the gamekeeper about the status of the flocks. I'm afraid to admit he is rather an idle person." Violet was just thinking out loud now.

Elsie wondered, "Is it that simple then? Does he just need a hobby?"

"Perhaps he should take up gardening?" Isobel suggested.

Elsie looked at Violet, her eyes asking, _Do you want to take this one, or should I? _ She found herself looking at an identical expression and a pair of eyes asking her the identical question. So, instead of explaining to Isobel exactly what was wrong with her suggestion, the two women simply began laughing hysterically.

When it had died down and Isobel had good-naturedly accepted their apologies it was time for Elsie to return to Downton.

"Thank you, once again for all you are doing for Mr. Carson and me. I am very appreciative and he will be even more so."

"It is our pleasure," Isobel beamed.

"And do not concern yourself with Lord Grantham, I shall find him a hobby." Violet promised her. And she meant it.

* * *

**A/N- I get that production costs keep Robert tied to the estate, so he can't go to Egypt (which is good, because he'd probably die), but I don't understand why he doesn't breed horses or dogs, Queen Elizabeth does.**


	12. Chapter 12

December 3rd , Kingston upon Hull,

Dearest Elsie,

I have only time for a quick note today. Between Nathan and Fredrick, my time is quite filled, but my day is never complete if I have not spoken to you, my Love, even when we are separated. I am pleased to hear wedding preparations are going well. With the three Crawley matrons at the helm it is certainly going to be thoroughly planned. I shall be praying for you.

If you do not believe there is enough room inside the Dowager House, you could perhaps use one of the garden party awnings to cover an overflow area in the garden. A few small braziers would keep guests warm. I believe Mr. Samuels at the Grantham Arms has some you could borrow. I am sure whatever you and the ladies devise will be lovely.

Another plan would be to keep the guest list small, though I imagine that is not an option. I've no doubt most of the village already considers themselves invited and it would be rude to turn them away.

You must. of course, use my personal wine stock for the Wedding Breakfast. I've quite a bit laid by and will never be able to drink it all myself. The best wines are in the case marked 'Christmas'. If you can avoid using that case, it would probably be best, otherwise there will be nothing for the Servant's Ball this year. Uncle Timothy has insisted on supplementing the refreshments. He is sending a shipment of wine and whiskey to the Dowager House on Monday, if you would be good enough to let them know to expect it.

Though you and Mrs. Patmore obviously enjoyed the topic, you may inform her that I will NOT be wearing a kilt. I am thankful that one of us is Scottish. I am most thankful that it is not me. I fear if you saw my knees before the wedding, you might change your mind.

Fredrick is helping me arrange for a mourning coat, with the top hat and all the trimmings for both Nathan and myself. He says the hat makes me look far too tall and it hurts his neck to look up at me. Apparently, I get my height from my mother's side of the family tree.

I must admit I was surprised when you asked my advice regarding who should give you away. I believe the correct answer to that question is, choose whomever you like, for I will only see you. But that would be a deflection and you asked for an opinion, therefore, I believe Mr. Bates would be the best choice, as I think Mr. Branson very likely to cry. But I must admit, in all honesty, when I picture our wedding day, all I see is _you_ walking down the aisle. An independent woman such as yourself does not need to be given away, only gratefully accepted and cherished. However you choose to navigate the aisle, come next Monday, there will be a man at the altar waiting to do exactly that.

Always and ever yours,

Charles

P.S. I hope you understand that man will not be Mr. Travis.

Nine more days!

CE—

They were winding down their weekly planning meeting. "Mrs. Hughes, I have noticed the price of running the kitchens has gone up considerably in the last week or so. Is there something I should know? I thought the shortages were over." Cora still walked lightly around the housekeeper on subjects approaching Mr. Carson, but the discrepancies were too great to ignore. It looked like the kitchen's budget had been impacted by almost ten percent.

"Well, that would be another difference between Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow, m'lady." Mrs. Hughes tried to remain respectful by reminding herself that Lady Grantham was on their side.

"Have the vendors raised their prices in protest of Mr. Carson's absence? Honestly, Mrs. Hughes, I've told you. We shall win his Lordship over." Was the whole world against Robert then? She had every faith that he would come to his senses before the time ran out.

"It isn't that. The difference you are seeing is because Mr. Carson treated the loyalty gratuities offered by the vendors as discounts for the household. Mr. Barrow ascribes to the more common practice that the allocation of these gratuities is at the discretion of the butler."

_One guess where the money goes. _Elsie thought bitterly.

"The vendors offer kickbacks to the butler? This is common, you say?" Had Cora known this and forgotten? She knew that it was becoming the fashion to tip the household staff of a home if you stayed overnight. It was a vulgar fashion, but one dictated by the difficult times.

"Yes, my Lady, it's considered one of the benefits for the butler but Mr. Carson found it to be distasteful, so the money is returned to the household budget. Sometimes, if the amount is greater than 10%, Mr. Carson will put the excess in a sort of discretionary fund with other gratuities. When we have larger events, he uses this money to reward the staff for the extra work they've done."

"Mr. Carson keeps none of this money for himself?" As though Cora didn't already know the answer to that question. She apparently just enjoyed torturing herself.

"He feels he is adequately compensated, My Lady. Of course, he does take his one bottle of wine per case. That is the more traditional butler's prerogative. Most of the wine ends up as a gift for one of the other staff, or is brought out for the Servant's Ball. For example, Mrs. Patmore always gets a sherry on her birthday and after a particularly spectacular dinner party."

"I had no idea." As if she needed another reminder of how ungrateful her spoiled husband was being.

"No, I imagine not." Her cold reply hung acidly in the air. Cora thought it was best to wrap things up quickly. Mrs. Hughes had been very accommodating, all things considered and Cora was not willing to jeopardize the continuation of that benevolence.

"One last thing, Mrs. Hughes; please remember that the final two candidates for my Lady's maid will be coming tomorrow. I would appreciate your input. Could you please look at their references and join me for the interviews?"

"Of course, My Lady. I'd be happy to. It will be good to get that taken care of before you go to London." Thankful the meeting was over she closed her notebook and pushed back her chair.

Cora couldn't stop herself from just asking what she'd wanted to ask all meeting. "And have you heard from Mr. Carson recently? Is he well?" _When is he coming back? Is he definitely coming back?_

"He writes very often, my lady. He is grateful for all the work that is being done for our wedding. He is well, though his uncle's health is still poor. He isn't sure how much longer he'll need to stay." It was the half lie she and Charles had agreed upon. His uncle was not well, but his only ailment was age, so he was unlikely to improve. Charles would not return until the Sunday next for the reading of the final banns or until his lordship specifically asked for him with the expressed intent to apologize.

If all went according to plan, she and Charles would be married one week from today. Elsie took a deep breath to calm herself. There was much to do before then. It was perhaps best that Charles was not here to distract her in the evenings, though his absence was a distraction during the days.

CE—

Cora had to admit that Mr. Barrow was not a great butler; good, but not great. He had all the looks and the manners, but none of the intangibles that made a great butler. If they had been entertaining more, Thomas' shortcomings might have been less glaring. But it was the intimate family dinner where Carson was most missed. He had been their touchstone; their mediator. If there was a disagreement, Carson could be relied upon to have a simple and honest judgment, usually of three words or less. Thomas on the other hand was as slippery as an eel. He would answer their direct questions, but his every response seemed to include an explanation or an excuse and when he was done, no one knew which side he was on. One look at Carson often told you his opinion.

Carson had a way of seeing to the heart of an issue; making it black and white, even if it did not lend itself to simplification. He wasn't always right, in fact he was often wrong, devoted to antiquated notions, but his conviction was unwavering and reassuring in an odd way.

And sometimes, especially when the Dowager Countess was in attendance, he would produce an unexpectedly droll response, which gave them fleeting glimpses of the man beneath the veneer. Not that his words were always intended to be humorous.

_Sincerity! That's the word!_ Cora finally defined it one evening after dinner as she listened to another oily answer from Mr. Barrow. Carson was sincere. Thomas was devious. It was as though the family was used to eating with a St. Bernard beside the table and had traded it in for a wolf. Great, now _she_ was thinking of Carson as a dog.

Cora had finally been forced to give up on the idea of opening Grantham House and not just because of Carson's wedding. Mr. Barrow had clashed so mightily with the staff there that she'd had to squash a mutiny. Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Whitman knew their business. Mr. Carson had always trusted them to deliver the highest standards of service and to ask him if they needed anything from him. He had been known to scold on occasion, but it was usually called for.

Unfortunately, Mr. Barrow rather enjoyed bossing people around, even those who did not need his instruction. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were keeping him honest at Downton, so he tried especially to establish his dominance at Grantham House. One phone call between Mr. Barrow and the Grantham House Housekeeper had resulted in an offer of resignation from Mrs. Collins.

Cora ultimately decided it would be easier to visit Rosamund for a week just before Christmas just to take Sybbie to the toy stores and a quick Panto. Robert returned from London when the original scheme had failed. Edith and Rose were mildly civil to him, giving him the benefit of the doubt and letting Cora work on winning him over. But Mary was being a nightmare, as only Mary could be. She was no longer avoiding her father, but openly taunting him. Cora could not make Mary see that she was hurting Carson's cause by punishing her father. Mary didn't see how things could get any worse, so she was merciless on her father.

Just when Cora thought she'd convinced Robert to apologize to Carson, Mary would come huffing into dinner and undo all Cora's gentle progress with one well timed jibe.

Cora had finally had enough. Her time was running out. She could not play the passive peacemaker any longer. Action was required. Mary must be made silent and Robert must be made to see reason. The final Banns would be read this Sunday. It was time for Mr. Carson's home to be ready to receive him.

* * *

**A/N Short one today. The pacing for the next few chapters may be odd. A certain event approaches. Will everyone be there?**

**Reviews are my caffeine, the more I have, the quicker the writing goes.**


	13. Chapter 13

Cora cornered Mary in the nursery. She knew they could have a calm conversation because George was sleeping and Mary would not risk disturbing him.

"Dear, you simply MUST stop tormenting your father. It is not helping Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes for you to do so."

Mary replied with that matter-of-fact air of hers, "But Papa is being exasperating! What can Carson have possibly done? Why can Papa not apologize for attempting to humiliate him?"

"I honestly do not know, but you are making it harder for me to find out. I know part of the problem, but there is more to it than your father is letting on."

Mary sighed dramatically at this. "Do you know that Carson spent more time in this nursery reading to Sybil than Papa spent in this nursery for any reason during all three of our childhoods?"

"Yes. Your father was terrified of you when you were little; all three of you. I think he was afraid of breaking you. He is not very comfortable with children. You saw how he almost dropped Sybbie at her own christening."

"I saw Carson holding Sybil when she was young. He could have crushed her with one hand, she was so tiny compared to him. But he was never afraid of breaking us."

"I would not bet on that. But he did seem to overcome it in a way your father could not."

Though she hated asking, Mary had to ask, "Do you think father would have spent more time with us if we were sons?"

"Absolutely not. Your father loves you." Cora assured her. "You know, compared to his own parents, your father practically smothered you with attention."

"Hmph." _As though that makes it alright. _"Did you know that he would not allow me to ask Carson to be a godfather to George? So it's Tom and Cousin James and Edith. I would much rather it was Tom and Carson and Anna, but father said it was improper to ask anyone from below stairs. I wish I had ignored him."

"I did not know that. If it truly was improper, Carson would have turned you down, but I think he would have been proud to have been asked, all the same." Cora said sadly. Both Carson and Anna would have been wonderful choices. "Mary, please, if you find you cannot be civil, at least give me and your father some space so I can smooth things over."

Mary wanted Carson to return. She knew she was not helping the cause. Without Carson, living at Downton felt like living in a house with no roof. One of the fundamental things that made Downton a safe home had been stripped away. And yet, the occupants kept going about their business trying to ignore that they were exposed to the elements. _Whatever would they do when the snows came? _ She thought absurdly. "Very well, I will make myself scarce when possible and silent otherwise, but you have only four days. And mind you, he does not like to be pushed."

Cora sighed, "I know. I've never met a Crawley who did." She rolled her eyes as she left the nursery. Mary and Robert were so alike sometimes.

CE—

"Carson should be back this Sunday." Cora opened the conversation. She was going to try to stick to the facts as much as possible. Robert could get so emotional sometimes. Sometimes she wondered if he was truly British. She would show him the meaning of unflappable.

"Would you like me to leave again?" He paused in removing his robe as if she'd asked him to leave that instant.

"Honestly, Robert, this is ridiculous. No one is asking you to leave." She still perused her tabloid, not bothering to look up.

"Mary would be happy if I did."

"Probably." She admitted calmly, surprising him with her candor. "But Mary would be happiest if you patched things with Mr. Carson. As would the rest of the house."

"You all think that I am in the wrong." He sat on the bed and looked over his shoulder at her. Still, she did not look at him.

"No one but the two of you knows exactly what happened, or what this is really about. I am sure there are regrets on both sides, but you _have_ been acting guilty, so you must feel there is something you could have done differently."

"Carson is the one who ran away." He pointed out. "Is that not the action of a guilty man?"

"No. It is the action of a man who is too exasperated and hurt to fight." Finally, she dropped her paper and looked at him. "Robert, there is no crime in being wrong. Even great men are wrong sometimes."

"The implication being that I am _not_ a great man." _As though I need to be reminded of that._ Robert sighed.

She would not let him draw her in; she could not sooth his insecurities tonight. He had to make a decision. "I did not say that, nor imply it. But I do not think it is a bad thing for any of us to be reminded that we are human, Robert." When he would not answer this challenge, instead leaning huffily back onto his pillow, she tried another route. She was tired of tiptoeing around the heart of the matter. "Regardless of who is right or wrong, I do believe it lies in your power to correct it. Why can you not apologize? Even if you feel there is nothing to apologize for."

"And he is not expected to apologize to me?"

"Unless there is something you are not telling me, it does not sound as though he owes you an apology." She had returned to her reading.

How could he tell her the truth? How could he admit, after all these years that he had betrayed her? He remembered how wonderful she had been when he confessed that he had lost all her money. Her dowry money was the sole reason he had pursued her and married her. She had every right to feel that her identity was defined by her dowry, as his was defined by Downton itself. She had every right to be angry and vindictive about his stupidity in over investing in one enterprise, but she had comforted him instead of feeling sorry for herself for marrying such an oaf.

Every time Robert compared himself to those around him, he was found wanting. He considered himself kind and generous, but it was easy to be so when it cost you nothing. How many times had he excused himself to the staff for lingering in the dining room too long, or interrupting their meals or their work for some errand? He asked for forgiveness from his staff freely compared to most aristocracy he knew. Why could he not admit his mistake to Carson, the man most likely to forgive him? Why was this time different? _Perhaps… _

"If you are not going to be pleasant, it would be best if you were not around." He was uninvited. It wasn't the words that strengthened his resolve, but the coldness he felt behind them.

"It is not proper for any of us to attend a wedding. We are still in mourning." He pointed out.

"I will not ask Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to wait one hour more than is necessary to be married. We will be wearing our blacks, no doubt casting a bit of a pall over the proceedings, but Mrs. Hughes has insisted that we are wanted. I will not disappoint Mr. Carson as you forced me to disappoint Sybil." She could not resist that little dig. It still haunted her that she had not attended Sybil and Tom's wedding.

Now it was out. She still resented him for that. Robert remembered the look on her face as Mary and Edith had climbed into the car as they started their journey to Dublin. Her youngest daughter, the truest child of their love, was getting married and she was left babysitting a dour faced Earl. For the most part, Cora had not dwelt on the subject or goaded him into guilt during that week. But on the Wednesday of the wedding, he had found her crying in an out of the way corner of the music room, somewhere none of them frequented. She had given him an earful that day and he took it because he felt he was doing the right thing and she would realize it and regret her words later. Time had proven him wrong. The regret was his.

"Robert, I believe you should go to London and stay with Rosamund. We have final preparations and I simply will not have you moping about. Rosamund has offered to lend you one of her footmen as your valet."

He started at this. "What's wrong with Bates?" He had not heard that Bates was ailing.

"His wife is in the wedding and he wants to support Mr. Carson." She informed him. "It's what friends do."

Robert's ears burned at this. Do friends accuse friends of impropriety? Do friends insult friends by saying they are horrible fathers? Robert was bound and determined to keep hold of his anger. So now Bates was abandoning him. They had faced Boer Commandos together, but John would not stand by his side against an army of women planning a wedding.

Just when he felt his grip slipping, his family found a new way to insult and injure him. Or maybe he just found a new way to be insulted and injured by them. Either way, it helped him grasp the anger and hurt more firmly with both hands. He would go to London. He would not apologize. "I'll leave on Saturday." He said as he turned his back to her and gripped his pillow under his head.

_That could have gone better,_ Cora sighed before setting aside her reading and turning off the light_. At least there was no shouting this time._ Her words had been a less than gentle push, but she did not dare risk more tonight. Monday was still very far away.

CE—

Elsie knocked on the bedroom door. She hoped very much that His Lordship would not be there. Somehow, she had avoided him completely since Mr. Carson's departure. She had a feeling he was avoiding her as well. It was the only way to explain how easily she had eluded his presence. Thankfully, only Lady Grantham waited for her. "Mrs. Hughes, I am sorry to bring you all the way up here, but I did not want any prying ears. I am ashamed to admit that His Lordship has not come around. Nor is he likely to by Monday. There is still a chance, but we cannot depend upon it."

"Mr. Carson will be disappointed, but it cannot be blamed on a lack of trying, My Lady. I am well aware of that and we are both grateful." It was hard for Elsie to feel any anger towards Lady Grantham. Cora had been given the worst position in all of this mess and had managed admirably. She was caught between Mary and Robert and Violet, but through it all, she'd been supportive of Mrs. Hughes and even enthusiastic regarding the wedding arrangements. Elsie had found a new level of respect for Her Ladyship during the past few weeks.

"He is so close, Mrs. Hughes. I can tell his resolve is eroding. If only I'd thought to send Mary away." Cora desperately wanted the housekeeper to understand.

"You could not have been expected to send your grieving daughter away, My Lady." Elsie smiled at her kindly.

As Her Ladyship did not seem to have anything more to convey Mrs. Hughes decided to bring up house business. "Since I am here, Your Ladyship, you should know that Miss Llewellyn has arrived and will be able to attend you this evening if you wish."

"Only if she has settled in. I hate to impose on Anna any longer, but I would not like to press a new maid into service before she is ready. I believe she's come from Cardiff which cannot have been an easy journey."

"I do not believe she returned home after the interviews, so she has not traveled far today, My Lady. Regardless, she has expressed her readiness to begin tonight."

"Very well, then we shall let her. She does seem like a lively girl, quite a change from Miss O'Brien. I hope she fits in well downstairs."

"I doubt anyone would fit in well downstairs at the moment." Mrs. Hughes had not meant to say that. "I am sorry, My Lady. It's just that all the uncertainty is wearing on the staff. There is quite an atmosphere at the moment."

"I can imagine. Though we could not tell upstairs," she lied. "I hope things will return to their proper balance soon, Mrs. Hughes."

"As do I. Will that be all, My Lady?"

"Yes. Though I believe Mr. Branson wishes to speak to you. He had some wedding business to discuss. You should find him waiting in your sitting room." Cora could not help but smile at the confused look on her housekeeper's face. Tom had an errand for Mrs. Hughes. One that she would very much enjoy.

**TBC-**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Since I don't have to consider production costs, we are taking a road trip…enjoy. **

Elsie walked along the street amongst the tea time crowds. The address in her hand was almost illegible now, she'd unfolded and folded the paper so many times. She had the address memorized, of course, but to see it written in Charles' bold hand was reassuring to her.

Tom had certainly surprised her with his request. He had informed her that as of that moment, she was on vacation. Her sole task was to retrieve her stubborn fiancé from Hull and return with him by Sunday noon for the final wedding preparations. Obviously, there was some worry that Mr. Carson might not return until the actual day of the wedding. Elsie could have told them otherwise, but Tom was very anxious. Lady Grantham and Anna were in on the scheme and promised to ensure that the house would not descend into complete chaos in her absence.

Mrs. Hughes had one condition. Mr. Barrow must return to under butler status and Mr. Bates must be raised to the temporary position of House Steward. The position had been absorbed into the butler position in most houses, but was still a recognized position. Unfortunately, Mr. Bates could not serve at table or Mrs. Hughes would have asked that he be acting butler. Thomas could continue to serve at table, but Elsie was not leaving him in charge of the Downton staff. Tom had agreed.

Elsie turned off the main way, the smell of sea water getting stronger. She knew little about Hull, but understood estuaries from her days in Argyll. She recognized the muddy, brackish smell of the tide flats. Hull was an interesting mixture of prosperity and industrious poverty. The neighborhood she now walked through straddled the line precariously. It had been built up quickly to accommodate the successful sailors during the height of the whaling boom. They were built for people to whom luxury was a new creature. But they'd been built with a sailor's aesthetic; no wasted space. Sailors didn't know what to do with extra space anyway, the builders had reasoned. The row of houses she now faced looked like a child's idea of elegance, wildly decorated and gaudy but crushed together. The whaling had died off and most of the current occupants were upper working class fishermen and their families. The truly prosperous had gone into shipping and moved out of this neighborhood years ago.

She stopped at the house indicated. The front of the house was wide enough for a door, but only just. It was brightly painted and showed more effort at upkeep than the doors on either side.

"Are you collecting or distributing?"

Elsie turned suddenly to the woman who had walked up behind her unnoticed. "I'm sorry?"

The woman indicated Elsie's carpet bag. "Charity? If you're collecting, we already share what we've got 'ere. And if you're handing out, thank you for the thought, but there are worse off than us, Miss."

_Damn this black dress and coat._ At Downton, her black attire was elegant and sensible; befitting her station. Outside of Downton she was either in perpetual mourning or she was mistaken for a preacher's wife or a nun.

"No, I'm not…that is…I'm looking for someone." Elsie stammered, uncharacteristically timid.

"Aren't we all, sweetie." This voice came from above her. A thin, wiry woman of indiscernible age was leaning out a window a few doors down from where she stood. The woman was dangling a young child from her breast. Appreciative laughter came from other windows and doorways in their immediate vicinity.

"Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Gladys." The woman next to Elsie called up. "or I'll tell yer man about that constable that seems to come 'round more often than he aught." She winked at Elsie here.

"We're horrible starved for entertainment 'round here. And manners." She apologized in a lower voice. "Now, who is it you're looking for, love?"

"Mr. Charles Carson. Or a Mr. or Mrs. Nathan Heaton." Elsie answered, sounding bolder than she felt.

"Bless me, Suzanne; they've got your number now." Another window commented and the laughter rang between the close buildings on the narrow street.

Ignoring this, the woman beamed at her, "You must be Mrs. Hughes! Lucky I came on you when I did, this lot would have sent you on a wild goose chase." She began to usher Elsie through the now open door. "I'm Suzanne Heaton." She wiped her hands on the front of her dress and extended her right in greeting.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Heaton." Elsie shook her hand warmly as they came through to the main room of the ground floor.

"Lor' that sounds grand, just call me Suzanne or Suzy." The lady of the house threw her hat into the corner casually and gestured for Elsie to place her bag in another corner. Elsie carefully removed her hat and balanced it on top of her bag.

"Then you must call me Elsie." She followed Suzanne into the back of the building to the kitchen.

"I never expected to meet you today, Elsie. Charlie was talking like he'd be leaving us day after next." Suzanne seemed to grasp the implication of Elsie's presence here. "Has something happened at the Abbey?"

"Not really, I have been tasked with bringing Mr. Car-; Charles home a day early." It was a strange sensation to use his Christian name outside of their most private moments. But this woman knew Charles well and it was appropriate.

Elsie knew that Charles was the godfather to all three of Suzanne and Nathan's children. Nathan's friendship was the oldest in Charles' life. On the rare occasion that he left Downton for anywhere but London, this was where Charles came; for christenings or weddings usually. When Elsie first became housekeeper, she'd been curious about the letters Charles regularly received addressed in a fine and feminine hand. It was years before she found out they were from Suzanne and Nathan. "My good friend in Hull is not much for correspondence. His wife is our go between." Charles had explained one day when she had managed to casually complement the fine handwriting. She remembered the relief she'd felt. She remembered chastising herself for feeling that relief.

"The boys will be back for their supper in a few hours. Would you care for a cuppa' and a chat in the meantime?" Suzanne began stoking up the banked fire under the kettle.

"That would be lovely, thank you, Suzanne." Elsie took the offered seat at the kitchen table that dominated the warm room. Elsie felt herself being sized up as the woman filled the kettle. She tried to look around at the room with an approving expression. These were good, hard working people and their home was neat and clean, but they'd never pass muster under the eagle eye of Downton housekeeper Elsie Hughes, and the standards of Downton Abbey. Elsie reminded herself that she was not at Downton and she was a guest in this jovial woman's home.

Perhaps it was the red hair, or the fact that she was now bustling around the kitchen muttering to herself, but Suzanne reminded Elsie greatly of Mrs. Patmore. Suzanne was taller than Beryl, but she had a round, ruddy face and an all-seeing look in her eyes that was familiar. Elsie had already witnessed some of the sharp wit and tongue that Charles had told her about.

Elsie relaxed a bit more and smiled genuinely at Suzanne as she set two cups on the table next to Elsie, followed by the sugar bowl. "Do you take milk?"

"Only a splash, if it's available. Otherwise, I'm fine with just one sugar." Suzanne placed a half empty pint on the table just as the kettle began to whistle.

As Suzanne wet the tea, Elsie asked, "Charles is out on the boat with Mr. Heaton then?"

"Mr. Heaton is my father-in-law. You'd best call my man, Nathan or you'll confuse him something proper." Suzanne chuckled. "Aye, Charlie's out with Nate today. An extra set of hands always makes the work easier. And I had to get him out from under my feet, he were driving me crazy; always trying to help with things or make suggestions or compare things to how Downton were run." Elsie dropped her eyes at this. Hadn't she just been doing the same? She hoped Charles had not been rude, but Suzanne seemed like a good hearted, honest woman who wouldn't take offense easily and would call Charles on his attitude if he overstepped. "He means well, but men don't really understand how a home is run, do they?"

"Not so well as a woman, I agree." She was not about to tell Suzanne that Charles Carson knew exactly how a house was run. "Somehow, I can't see Charles as a fisherman." She said, doing some fishing of her own.

"It was what he was born to do, really, big lad like that. His granddad was a whaler, but that work dried up long back. His father was a fisherman. Charlie was born to the sea, but he never really belonged _here_. Everyone thought his mother was a bit uppity when his da' brought her back here, so my mum said. But she was beautiful and kind and won folks over. When she died, his father took the longer jobs and were rarely ashore. I think he wrote Charlie often, but I don't think they saw much of each other. And then his da' were drowned and he come back to live with his uncle."

Elsie stirred the sugar into her tea daintily and expertly added a dollop of milk. She knew the outline of Charles' life, when he came to Downton and when he left, how his parents had died, and even some small details about Vaudeville, but here was someone who knew it all. Elsie hoped Suzanne would continue talking. Elsie did not think she would need too much encouragement.

Suzanne had been watching Elsie's precise and delicate movements. Elsie felt more refined than usual in this rough setting and a little out of place. "I told my Nate it'd be a fine one who catches our Charlie, and bless if I weren't right."

Elsie blushed at the compliment, but changed the conversation immediately, hoping to receive more insight into the young Charles Carson.

"So you've known Charles all his life?"

"Not exactly. It's more like our families have known each other for several generations. I didn't really know Charlie until he moved back after his father died. I think he was fourteen or so. I'm a few years younger."

"What did you mean, Charles didn't belong here?" That had struck Elsie as an odd statement.

"Well, for starters, he was the only one who stayed in school past the age of eleven. He'd been attending the local school at Downton, apparently and when he moved back his uncle insisted on paying for his further education. Said it was the least he could do for his nephew."

"You can't be saying he's too smart to be a fisherman. It takes a good deal of intelligence to be good at any job." She didn't want Suzanne to feel she had to insult her own husband to build Charles up.

"Aye, it does. But I'd not say he was too smart; only too educated, too cultured. Half the time, none of us knew what he was talking about. Quoting stuff always, he was. And wasn't he always restless; always leading the neighborhood boys into some trouble or another? Always looking for some adventure or another. He'd read a book about pirates and get the idea to take one of his uncle's boats out to look for ship wrecks or smugglers in the middle of the night. They nearly got run down by a schooner once, out on the river after dark once.

"It was funny. Their group of boys weren't like the other gangs of hooligans running around in the streets. They didn't name themselves or all wear their hats just so or anything like that. Charlie was never really interested in leading. He simply did what he wanted. It just so happened there were a bunch of boys always following him around. I think it actually bothered him to feel responsible for these kids who looked up to him so much.

"To keep them busy, Charles started this scheme where some of the local kids would meet the boats as they came back and serve as runners to the fish stalls. It's always been a race to get the first fish in, and the stalls paid premium for that. The kids got a cut of the increased price. There's still a version of that going on today. It keeps a lot of kids out of trouble and more than a few families fed."

"That sounds like something Charles would do." Elsie glowed.

"That's right. He could have done more for this neighborhood too, but, like I say, he was restless. And his uncle married that hellion. He'd been talking of leaving even before they married, but once she had Fredrick, it was only a matter of time. Mr. Carson, the elder, I mean, doted on Charlie. But that wife of his didn't want anyone taking Fredrick's place or his inheritance, so she forced her husband to leave the neighborhood and eventually drove Charlie out of her home. "

Charles had never talked about his time in Hull with his uncle. She knew he would tell her about it if she asked, but they were still learning so much about each other and it hadn't struck her to ask yet. She felt a bit guilty learning this information secondhand, but she suspected Charles' version would be much more humble and she loved to hear her man complimented and admired.

"Then the carnival came and the troupe that he ran off with."

"Carnival?" Thankfully, Elsie had not been sipping her tea that the moment. It would not have been very elegant to spit tea on her hostess. Elsie knew about his Vaudeville days, but thought that was a brief time between when the 4th Earl had died and the current Lord Grantham had hired him back.

"Oh, aye. Charlie must have been nineteen. There was no more schooling available to Charlie and he'd started keeping books for his uncle, much to Mrs. Carson's vexation. One weekend, a great carnival set up in the green at Pickering Park. There were stalls and rides, but mostly it was spectacles and shows.

"There was a magician. He had a show at night, but had to make some money during the day and drum up interest. So his gimmick was that he had a trick that he defied people to solve. You paid a penny to go into the tent where he showed you the trick. If you could solve the trick, you won a half shilling. Some people went into the tent multiple times, sure that they'd figured it out, but no one could. My Nate kept pushing Charlie to give it a go. Charlie always seemed to win at the games like that. Earlier, he'd bet the guy who guessed weights that he could come closer to guessing the barker's weight than they could come to guessing his. And he'd won."

"So, finally, Charlie goes in. He was in that tent for almost ten minutes. We were starting to think he'd been Shanghaied when he finally came out; with 3 shillings. They'd shown him 6 tricks and he'd figured them all. He was about to treat us to ice creams when a dwarf came around and asked him if he'd like to attend the full show that night and visit back stage after. Of course, we were all game. He gave us special tickets and everything."

"It was just you and Nathan and Charles?" Elsie asked. She couldn't imagine the 19 year old Charles Carson that Suzanne had been describing as not walking out with some lucky girl. He was smart, had a job, was undoubtedly handsome and he sounded more than a little wicked.

"Yes, just us. We were near inseparable back then." Suzanne smiled at the remembrance.

"Charles wasn't walking out with someone, then?" She could not possibly be jealous of someone from over forty years ago, could she?

"You've naught to be jealous of, girl." Suzanne laughed at her, reading her mind. "None of the girls around here ever stood a chance. He said they were all sweet enough, but there wasn't a one that he could talk to for more than two minutes without wanting to jump in the Humber. He told me I was the exception, but since Nathan had been in love with me since we were ten, he'd never 'had a go'. I think he was kidding." Suzanne blushed in a way that told Elsie there was part of her that wanted to believe that he hadn't been.

"What happened at the magic show?" Elsie prompted Suzanne out of her brief daydream to continue her story.

"Lor' didn't they have all kinds of pyrotechnics and dwarves and half naked ladies appearing and disappearing. What a sight! It was like all the magical excitement you'd ever heard about presented in a twenty minute show. Charlie was obviously impressed and it took a lot to impress him back then."

_Still does_. Elsie thought but she didn't want to interrupt Suzanne now.

"At the end of the show they asked for a volunteer from the audience. Everyone in the audience raised their hands and waved them madly, except Charlie. He just leaned back in his seat smiling at all us rubes. Of course, it's Charlie they pull up on the stage. All this time, he's got a smug look on his face like he's above all this nonsense, but he's still smiling and obviously enjoying himself.

"The assistant places him with his back to a mirror that's in the middle of the stage. Then the magician takes this large sheet and brings it up in front of Charlie. The magician wasn't a very tall man, and couldn't bring the sheet up high enough to cover Charlie. So there was a funny moment where he puts the dwarf on his shoulders and hands the sheet up to him. With both his hands free the magician makes all these motions and says the magic words. Then the sheet falls and there's a poof of smoke and light and…no Charlie!

"The magician bowed to the applause and then makes to leave the stage. Of course, folks start calling for him to bring Charlie back. He makes some joke about it being a one way trip or something, but folks aren't buying it. So he pretends to give in and says some silly words and points to the back of the tent where Charlie comes walking through the tent flap as though he'd just gone to get us a bag of peanuts with a bit of smoke trailing after him.

"This causes mad applause and then the show was over. People come up to us after and wanted to touch Charlie like he's actually been transported through time and space. He rather enjoyed the attention." Elsie tried to imagine Charles _enjoying_ attention. It was so unlike the man she knew.

"After the crowd left, the dwarf who had talked to us before came and brought us around to the back of the stage. We met the magician. His stage name was Lysander of Ptolemaida . His real name was Ernest Criswell." Both ladies shared a good laugh at that one.

"A rose by any other name…" Elsie shrugged wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"In any event, we got the full tour and at the end of it, he offered Charlie a job.

"Of course, Charlie had to talk to his uncle, but Nate and I knew there wasn't much question. Long story short, when the carnival moved on the next week, Charlie went with them.

"We got letters from the road. They traveled all over England, Scotland and Wales. He mainly assisted back stage, but they used him in a few of the tricks. Apparently, having someone as tall as Charlie on stage with a dwarf never failed to please the rabble. He learned to tightrope walk and juggle too so he could earn extra money at the carnival between shows. His letters were happy and full of exciting stories. You'll have to ask him about that yourself because I've forgotten most of them."

"Oh, I shall." Elsie was going to need to see Charles juggling and soon.

"About a year after he joined them, their act left the carnival and joined a proper Vaudeville troupe. It was a lot more money, but Charlie didn't like the Vaudeville people as much as the carnival people. I guess the carnival folks were more like a family and the Vaudeville folks were divided out by acts, without much interaction. Also, I gathered that morals were looser with the Vaudevillians, which didn't suit Charlie.

"I think Charlie was pretty lonely during that time. He had some acquaintances, but no real friends. Less than a year later, we heard he was back at Downton as second footman."

Suzanne rose and took the cups and saucers to the sink to rinse. Elsie noticed the light coming from the back garden was much dimmer now. The early winter dusk would be coming soon.

"Shall we walk towards the dock? The boats should be in by now." Suzanne suggested. Elsie nodded. She couldn't wait to see her Charlie.

* * *

**Long A/N for a long chapter- FYI, the reason I am insisting that there were two stints in Vaudeville for our Charlie is that the flyer from Season 1 episode 2 ****clearly**** reads May 14, 1897 (you don't even have to pause the show to read it). I know this is probably a production oversight, but I'm calling it canon. I don't think you take up a Vaudeville career at the age of almost 40 unless you have previous stage experience. **

**If you want to picture what Charles' first stint in showbiz was like, in my mind, I suggest you watch "Lost Empires" miniseries. Bonus, it features a very young Colin Firth. It's set almost immediately pre-WWI, but I think it's a good depiction of Vaudeville in Britain at the turn of the century and centers on a magic act. Since the real "Charles Carson", Jim Carter, is a juggler and trained as a tightrope walker, this seemed like a better back story than a song and dance guy. Of course, our Charlie was there in the 1870's… but show biz never really changes, does it?**

**One last funny thing I just have to share…I came up with the name Criswell, thinking it sounded familiar as a magician. When I looked it up, he's the guy from the beginning of Plan 9 From Outer Space. Actual quote… "We are all interested in the future for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives." **

**That is all, sorry the Author's Note was almost as long as the chapter. I will try to post over the weekend, but no promises.**


	15. Chapter 15

The house was only a short distance from the docks and they had reached them before Elsie was really prepared. She was about to see him. He was about to see her. Belatedly, she thought she should have pinned her hair anew. She had almost missed her train connection in York and she knew that there were strands of hair falling out of place. But it was too late to fix now and she didn't think Charles would mind. He liked to play with the little wisps that he could find loose at the end of the day as they sat in his pantry or her room. Her pace quickened at the thought.

As they neared the docks, she became very cognizant of the looks she was attracting. She felt eyes of men and women alike crawling over her fine silk dress where it was visible beneath her expensive coat. Coats were her main vanity and this one was her newest, purchased only last week in Ripon when she was shopping with Mrs. Crawley. It looked very expensive, but, like everything Elsie owned, it was more sensibly priced than anyone would have suspected. She had indulged in a bit of fur lining this time. It was only rabbit, but it was white, like ermine. The effect was striking. Her hat was simple, but of good material. It was also a recent purchase.

She was aware of all the rough wool and cotton in this world. She obviously did not belong here. Charles would surely stick out as clearly as she, even in his most casual suit.

They began to pass more and more fisherman heading home for their supper. They were all polite, exchanging greetings with Suzanne and each other. Suzanne had to stare a few down to make them stop gawping at Elsie and keep walking. Elsie's eyes were focused on the street in front of her.

"It's a good sign we haven't passed them yet," Suzanne told her. "It'll mean they've had a good catch. Nate likes to have a beer with some of the boys after a good day."

Elsie was starting to feel very apprehensive. They were approaching a large group of men, mostly fishermen judging by the amount of oilskin clothing, loitering at a corner. They all had beards of varying length and woolen watch caps on. They all slouched and leaned casually against the wall or sat on the stacked crates of netting. They looked very rough. Several had bottles of what she assumed was beer. One of the fishermen was eyeing her much more openly than the others. He was one of the taller in the group, _Taller than my Charles, even_, she thought, and had a thick, dark beard. She would not make eye contact with any of them. She'd not made eye contact with anyone since leaving the Heaton's home. All the men of the group were all looking up at them now and had fallen silent.

She looked down the dock towards the boats, searching for Charles and Nathan, but no one was coming from the boats. She could tell from the corner of her eye that the dark fisherman had stopped slouching and was smiling broadly at her now as they approached.

_Perhaps that is Nathan_, she thought. _Of course, it is_. He wasn't smiling at her, he was smiling at Suzanne. How vain she had gotten with all the attentions of the Crawly ladies over the past few weeks!

Suzanne hailed the group, "What ho, boys? Seen my Nate about?"

So that was not Nathan. The foolish man _was_ smiling at her; most definitely at her. _The cheek of that fellow! He had better tone that down before Charles sees him. _She turned to glare at the rake just as he cocked an eyebrow at her. Recognition dawned.

"He's right here Suzie." And it was _his_ voice coming from the tall, dark fisherman! "Charles?" She could not believe her eyes. He looked so different. Even now, she hardly recognized him.

He was wearing a dark oilskin coat over a navy heavy knit sweater and a pair of dark oilskin bib pants. His hair was curling slightly out from under the dark green woolen watch cap he was wearing. The color made the brown of his eyes somehow deeper. Elsie could not believe he had grown such a beard in only two weeks. It was short but full. It simply looked well groomed. There was less grey in it than she would have expected. And though, she could not say if it was the clothes or the lack of Mrs. Patmore's cooking, he looked as though he had dropped at least a stone of weight since she last saw him.

"'And the noble and true-hearted Kent banish'd!'?" He teased as he walked towards her, the great Wellington boots echoing on the stone street; so different from his almost silent way of moving around Downton.

"No, my Cordelia. Not banished. Though 'I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in  
telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly.'" He reached her just as she finished the quote.

"God, I missed you," he growled into her neck as he swept her into his arms. "I love these people, but they wouldn't know Shakespeare if he rose up out of his grave and followed them around spouting sonnets." He was covering her face and neck with kisses between his words.

"You are such a snob, my love." She laughed at him as she returned his kisses. Finally, their lips met, almost at random. Having finally found what they sought, their lips returned for a deep and satisfying kiss.

She was overwhelmed by the textures of him. Her hands felt the slick oilskin coat and moved to the rough wool of his sweater collar that melted into the damp curls of the hair on the back of his neck. Her lips felt the wetness of his lips and the bristle of his beard, surprisingly soft in places. Her body felt the warmth and solid reality of him through her coat.

Both breathing contentedly, their lips parted. They were still eye to eye.

"I prefer the term uppity," he smiled, "but you'll have to be the minx."

"It's a deal."

She could hear Suzanne and the men laughing good-humoredly. A few of the fishermen gave appreciative whoops. She was mindful now that they had an audience.

"Perhaps you should put me down, Charles." She offered reluctantly. Her feet were almost a foot off the ground.

He laughed at her and held up his hands. Her feet were still a foot off the ground. It was then that she realized that her arms were locked around his neck. Before she could let go, he put his hands back on her waist. Holding her to him, he turned sideways and said, "Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Miss Elsie Hughes, the light of my life. Elsie, meet the boys." They all smiled at her. Elsie smiled back as naturally as she could. "And this tall drink of water is Nathan."

Nathan laughed a deep and warm laugh as he stepped out from the group and Suzanne joined him. She could picture Charles and Nathan running around the docks as young men, inseparable comrades in mischief. He actually did resemble Charles in many ways. He was tall, not as broad as Charles in the chest, but solidly built. His hair was as grey as it was blonde and he had piercing blue eyes surrounded by a rough and lined face that had showed the effects of lots of sun and lots of smiling. To Elsie, he looked like a Viking. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Elsie. I'd shake your hand, but I see you are quite occupied at the moment. Charlie, why don't you take Elsie to see the boat?" Elsie liked Nathan instantly.

"Can you walk on your own?" Charles asked her.

"If I must." He set her down and offered his arm. He led her down onto the wooden dock and towards the moored boats.

"Did she just call him Cordelia?" she heard one of the fishermen ask. "I thought his name were Charles." Elsie could not help but laugh as she leaned heavily into his body.

* * *

**TBC-very soon... sorry it's so short. A lot is going to happen this week...  
**


	16. Chapter 16

As they walked down the dock, Charles was torn between the desire to pull her closer to him or the need to look at her. For now, he compromised by pulling her closer and craning his neck so he could see her face, which she had turned up towards him. "Not that I am unhappy to see you, love, but what are you doing here? You haven't finished burning our bridge, have you?"

"Not yet," she assured him. "I've been sent to collect you." He stopped walking and turned to her, surprised. His hopeful expression hurt her heart. "Not by His Lordship, unfortunately. He's still pouting, though Her Ladyship thinks he must almost be done." His expression was at first full of his disappointment, but she saw him put it aside for now as he merely nodded sadly.

"No, Tom and John want to make sure you come back in time for a stag night." She was relieved to see the look of terror on his face before they turned to continue walking.

They had now reached the "Suzy Q", the little boat that Nathan usually ran single handed. Elsie did not have much experience with boats and Charles smiled as he watched her look around for the gangplank. The gap between the dock and the deck was less than a foot, but the water was clearly visible down below and did not look very clean or inviting. "You just hop on board, love." He told her and then demonstrated by springing lightly over the low gunwale.

She scowled at him as if to say, _In this dress and coat, I'll not be hopping anywhere, you daft man. _

"Or, I could help you." He offered, reaching a hand out to her.

"Yes, I think that would be best." She answered, her scowl disappearing.

He lifted her by the waist and set her down on the deck, stealing a quick kiss on the cheek in the exchange.

Now he stood back to drink her in as she crossed the aft deck. In the short weeks he'd been away he had almost convinced himself it was all a dream; Downton, the Granthams, even Elsie. Every morning Charles would smell the salt air before he opened his eyes upon a room that was too large and was decorated with an overzealous love of all things nautical. For a few brief seconds he could almost believe he had never left Hull and his life outside was just the fevered dream of a Charlie Carson who could not escape a world where he did not belong.

Though he had enjoyed spending time with Nathan and Suzanne; visiting their daughters who still lived nearby, he was reminded every day why he had wanted out. No one read literature or even novels. No one spoke of politics. The food was hearty and invariable. He knew now, as he'd known then, that he could never have settled for any of the local girls as a wife. He could never have built a life here.

Did that mean he was a snob? Maybe. Or did it just mean that he wanted more from life than wake up, work, sleep, repeat? Many would look at his job as a butler and argue that his life did boil down to little more than that. Some would even say he had allowed his life to be absorbed and exploited by a thankless and soulless aristocratic family. Even with his present disagreement with Lord Grantham, Charles could never feel that way. He felt he'd been given more opportunities than most of his acquaintances in Hull had ever dreamed of. And he had taken advantage of many of those opportunities.

But none of that mattered at the moment. The most important part of his life at Downton was true and was here now. He felt he could build a life anywhere with her. Elsie walked around the back deck of the _Suzie Q_ examining the details of the small boat. She pretended to be very interested in every aspect of the boat, but she was well aware that he was watching her and she felt like putting on a show. She delicately trailed her fingers along the top of the transom. She traced the rough line attached at the aft cleat and followed it until she found the neat coil of line hung at the ready over another cleat. Her fingers absently caressed the coil of rope before she turned toward the small, semi-enclosed cabin. She leaned seductively against the steering wheel, looking off across the river to the Southern sky. It gave him a wonderful view of her profile lit in the soft light of the dying winter sunset. He enjoyed the display from afar for as long as he could, but finally, he crossed the deck in two strides and pulled her to him so they stood chest to chest, their arms wrapped around each other.

"What are you doing to me, minx?" He found a soft tendril of her hair hanging loose by the side of her face and wrapped it around a finger, caressing her cheek with each coil he wrapped.

She did not answer him verbally, but only smirked up at him. He dropped his hand down her neck, leaving a little ringlet of her hair. His fingers were drawn to the fur of her collar. Carson had handled all kinds of fur in his years as a footman and then butler; removing a zoo's worth of furs from the shoulders of the rich and titled. It was also his task to store the family furs in the warmer months, so he could identify almost every variety of fur instantly. He knew immediately that her collar was rabbit, but he appreciated that most people would not. The coat's suggestion of ermine made her look absolutely regal.

"This is new." He remarked as he petted the collar lightly.

"Apparently, being a married woman requires a complete change of wardrobe." Her hand came up to stroke his furry face, scratching him under the chin. "This is new."

"I didn't like shaving in the cold water," he blushed to admit. "It will come off before the wedding, I promise."

"Don't you dare!" She said it more animatedly than she had intended. Now it was her turn to blush. She tried to sound casual as she said, "It's just that I happen to think it looks nice." _And there is no way I'll get Beryl to believe me if you shave it now._

"As you wish, but it cannot remain indefinitely. You know anyone who serves at table cannot have facial hair. It is unsanitary and unseemly." _ If I ever serve at table again..._

They both ignored the unspoken thought. "Is that why you shaved your mustache when you returned to Downton all those years ago?"

"I cannot believe you remember that mustache." He laughed to remember how ridiculous he had felt with that thing on his face. He sat on a bench inside the cabin and pulled her onto his lap. Her hands never left his face. "I actually shaved it when we left for Italy, long before returning to Downton. It was part of a running bet between several of the valets in London that season. I never liked it much and it was a lot of work to keep it properly waxed. I felt like a vain fool every morning, but His Lordship seemed to find it amusing, so I kept it for a while. He was in such a bad mood most of that season it was the least I could do. And I won the bet."

"Well, however you felt about it, it looked magnificent. I saw you a few times that season, when Rosamund invited His Lordship to visit." Her fingers drew a mustache on his upper lip.

"I believe you saw more of me than I saw of you. I really did think you were avoiding me. Every time I asked after you, I'd just missed you." He'd always wondered why.

"Lady Rosamund is very demanding of her ladies' maids. But it is possible that I was rather intimidated by you, the few times we did meet. I didn't like to feel that way, so I avoided you." The truth was, she'd found the young Lord Grantham's valet to be very distracting during a time in her life where she did not welcome distraction.

"But you still managed to spy on me."

"I was a ladies' maid at the time. Spying is what we do."

"Speaking of spying; is there anything interesting going on at Downton that I should know about that you've neglected in your letters?"

"Speaking of ladies' maids, Lady Grantham has hired a new one, Margaret Llewellyn. I have only met her twice, but she seems an improvement over Miss O'Brien already."

"A barracuda would be an improvement over Miss O'Brien." Charles reminded her.

"There are not many barracuda who can style a Lady's hair, my love."

"I suppose not. If there were, it would put a good many people out of work." He began chuckling to himself at what he considered a very funny reply. She shook her head at this absurd conversation, _Daft man_.

Then she remembered there had been something she left out of her letters. "I am afraid we'll be losing Daisy soon." Charles stopped laughing now. "Daisy and Mrs. Patmore visited Mr. Mason last week. He wants an answer soon."

"But why did Mrs. Patmore go?"

"Daisy asked if she would come along. You know how much she relies on Beryl's opinion. I think she wants to go be on the farm, but she needs Beryl's blessing. And since we know her opinion on the matter, it probably is only a matter of time."

"Well, Ivy seems bright enough and I am sure Daisy will do well on the farm. I do not know Mr. Mason well, but if William is any indication of his influence on young people, she could not be in better hands. Beryl will miss her though. Ivy does answer back so much more than Daisy.

"But that is something we shall deal with when it happens. Right now, there is a much more pressing issue than Downton staffing problems, Mrs. Hughes."

"And what is that, Mr. Carson?" she sounded very professional suddenly.

"I've not kissed you in almost two minutes."

"I was starting to wonder if you were getting cold feet, my love."

He only waggled his eyebrows at her and applied himself for the next few minutes to proving that nothing about his feelings were growing cold; quite the reverse.

When they broke apart, now both warmed considerably, Charles looked reluctantly at the darkening sky. "It will be dark soon, we should head back to Suzanne and Nathan." They both stood and crossed the deck. He stepped confidently onto the dock and reached back for her, stealing another light kiss as he swung her down from the boat.

A little breathlessly, she reminded him, "And I've still to find lodging for tonight. Mr. Branson gave me money for an inn, but I have not found one yet. I was hoping you or the Heaton's could recommend somewhere reputable."

"If you stay anywhere but with the Heaton's, Suzanne will flay me alive." Before Elsie could object, Charles continued, "I shall stay with Fredrick. He's given me a standing invitation. In fact, I am supposed to dine there tonight. I shall send a note as soon as we get back to Nathan's to include you in the number. The family are all dying to meet you, but thought they would have to wait until the wedding."

"I was not prepared to meet them yet either." She sounded apprehensive.

"Nonsense, they already love you because I love you." He pulled her close to him and they walked back towards the lights and noises of the city.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

As Charles had predicted, Suzanne insisted that Elsie stay with them for the night. Charles did give Elsie a nervous look as Suzanne exclaimed, "We've so much more to discuss!" He wondered what they had already discussed. He did not plan to keep anything hidden from Elsie, but he had hoped to control the roll out of information about his past. She only winked at him in answer to his look. _That is not good, but it could be worse,_ he thought._  
_

As soon as Fredrick heard Elsie was in town, he expanded the dinner invitation to include her and the Heaton's. Charles had changed quickly from the fishing clothes into his tweed suit after a quick basin wash. He now looked more like himself, but his suit was not as tight as before, his hair was not greased and the beard still lent him an aura of mystery. She could not help but compare him to how Joe Burns had looked all those years ago. She knew she had made the right choice.

He'd come down from changing with his valise packed. "The room is all yours now, my dear."

Elsie had then taken her small bag up to the room that the Heaton children had once shared. She did not need to change, but she did take a moment to straighten her hair and consider her appearance in the tiny mirror before descending the stairs and rejoining Charles. By this time, Nathan and Suzanne had changed into their Sunday best and were standing in their front room looking slightly nervous. They had not yet met Fredrick Carson and his family either.

A short cab ride took the four of them away from the fishing docks and closer to the shipping center into a more affluent neighborhood with white pillared house fronts. The attempt to capture the essence of posh London was evident, but the illusion was not perfect. At first glance, you would have thought you were in Knightsbridge, but if one looked closely at the details, one would notice something was wrong. The plaster facades lacked the weight of the marble they attempted to copy. Still, the people in the street looked as fashionable as any Elsie had seen anywhere in Yorkshire.

They were deposited in front of a large corner house. It was much larger than Elsie had been expecting. This house rivaled Lady Rosamund's London house in scale and splendor, if not in price. Charles had told her that his uncle and cousin were very successful, but she had assumed they still qualified as middle class. If their home was any indication, they were more than upper middle class. They were actual nouveau riche.

Elsie had not been nervous before she saw the house but she was now. Her nerves were not based on a fear of not being accepted. Charles cared more for the opinion of Nathan and Suzanne than that of his uncle and cousin and Elsie had won the Heaton's over easily. Elsie's apprehension now was because she realized that they were crossing a socially defined line, something specifically frowned upon in her line of work. Even if they were Charles' family, this branch of the Carson family must surely insist on observing the proper distance from what they must consider 'poor relations'. Nouveau riche seemed to obsess over propriety even more than nobility.

She was surprised that Charles was acting so naturally. This was exactly the kind of situation that turned him into a blustering champion of the old ways. Charles' letters had assured her that Fredrick was a kind, unassuming man, but she had her doubts based on the house alone. There was nothing humble about this edifice.

Of course they were accommodating to Charles. He probably fit in without too much effort. He was used to attending such dinners. Even if he was serving at them, he was aware of all the etiquette and had observed decades of inane diner conversation. He could talk business, politics or literature effortlessly. For Nathan and Suzanne, and to a lesser degree Elsie, this was likely to be a very uncomfortable evening.

Within a second of entering the house, Elsie's worries disappeared. This house was a home. Though it was large and elegantly appointed, the Carson residence was not an antiseptic museum created to impress and intimidate people. It was a warm, inviting place for friends who are well met. The door was opened by a somber looking butler who took their coats, but immediately Fredrick was there, grabbing Nathan's hand and pulling them all into the warmth of the salon. Fredrick's wife and two children were playing cards on the floor of the salon as the guests entered.

Springing quickly to their feet, the two young Carsons ran to hug their new found cousin. They were lively girls of 9 and 13. Upon first meeting this new relation, both girls had been slightly frightened by his height and great eyebrows. But they had not been fooled for long. After two short weeks, they already knew their father's cousin to be a patient partner at cards and a sure source of peppermints.

"Annette, Brittany, I would like to introduce my friends. This is Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Heaton." Charles gestured to the smiling pair. "And this," he took Elsie's hand and pulled her towards the eager girls, "is Miss Elsie Hughes, whom I shall be marrying on Monday."

They engulfed her in a great hug of pink lace, brunette curls and gleeful giggles. Elsie returned their honest affection warmly. By this time, their mother had risen from the floor, setting aside the deck of cards. Fredrick took his wife's hand, "Miss Hughes, I am Fredrick Carson and this is my wife, Emily. We are honored to welcome all of you to our home." His smile was infectious. Elsie sized him up quickly. He had a dark mop of hair and dark brown eyes, but that was the only family resemblance she could spot. Fredrick stood barely taller than herself and was slightly built. She could hear Beryl's voice in her head, _You could break him over your knee_.

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Carson; Mrs. Carson." She nodded to them each, in turn.

"We shall have to dispense with the Mr. and Mrs. anything tonight. Or when my father comes down, we shall confuse ourselves. Why don't we stick to first names?"

"Because that would be inappropriate." Elsie stifled an eye roll as Charles stepped in with an etiquette lesson. She had missed the wink Charles had thrown at Fredrick and Emily. "It is perfectly simple; you are the Young Mr. Carson, I am the Elder Mr. Carson and your father is the Eldest Mr. Carson."

"No, Charles, I believe you should be the Young Mr. Carson. That way, I can be the Younger Mr. Carson. Father can just be Old Mr. Carson."

"Well, my dear," his wife joined the discussion, smiling broadly, "you always did want to be younger."

Annette and Brittany could not figure out what everyone found so funny, but it was several minutes before they were able to get any coherent sentences from any of the adults.

CE—

Dinner was a full five course affair, but the dishes were simpler than they usually served at Downton. Elsie would never criticize Mrs. Patmore's cooking, but sometimes she could get over complicated. Did one really need to mash, whip, double bake and flambé potatoes when roasting them was just as tasty and required only a fraction of the effort?

The family did not follow the convention of speaking first to your immediate neighbor on one side and then switching through the meal. Conversation flowed around the table chaotically; Nathan and Fredrick discussing Stag Night possibilities, Suzanne and Emily lamenting the shortage of well-trained help in Hull. Elsie caught Charles' eye at one point and could tell that this was a bit much for him. He thought dinner should be quiet and relaxing. Boring conversation was good for the digestion; though he would not have said 'boring'. More likely, he'd have called it, steady or light. Elsie called it boring. She liked this cacophony of discussion. It seemed to her the proper way for a family to end their day together.

At one point, Brittany got up from her seat and ran around the table to whisper something into her mother's ear. Emily did seem to find this too great a breach in etiquette. "Whispering is impolite, child. If you want to ask Miss Elsie about her wedding dress, you may do so. But she is free to tell you that you are an impertinent girl and will have to wait until Monday, like the rest of us."

Elsie smiled at Brittany, "I would be glad to tell you a few details, but only after we've left the men to their brandy. I cannot risk Mr. Charles overhearing."

Uncle Timothy had joined them for dinner, but he was not much inclined to speak. He followed the conversations around him well enough, but did not feel obligated to participate. He was an older version of his son, slightly built. Charles had described him as gentle but Elsie would have used the term fragile. He had hazel green eyes that darted around the room, following all the conversations at once. His expression was one of bemusement, contentment and pride. Timothy Carson watched his family and basked in their obvious happiness.

Fredrick's voice raised above the others as his thread of conversation became the most interesting and other discussion died down. "All I knew about cousin Charles until two years ago was that he ran away to join the Circus. Mother always brought you up as a cautionary tale, Charles."

"I am glad to have been of service. And it was a Carnival, not a Circus." Charles corrected him, glancing sideways at Elsie. She smiled to tell him that she knew about the Carnival and was not in the least bit shocked by the news. The tension left his posture immediately.

"What is the difference between a Circus and a Carnival?" Annette wanted to know.

"There was not one big show, with a midway, like a Circus. There were lots of little tents and shows." Charles informed her. "And we had fewer animals."

"I don't know," Nathan added, "I remember the barker for the freak show looked more than a little feral."

Charles shook his head, "Oh, Grayson was a nice guy and a very intelligent man. He just didn't like to shave or bathe. We had some great conversations. I learned a lot about Greek philosophy from him." No one really had a response to this and simply sat at the table nodding; properly chastised to not judge a book by its cover.

Then Charles added, "I also learned to stand upwind during those conversations."

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the delay between chapters, I am trying to post daily during the week, but it is harder writing new characters in a new setting. Plus, I am enjoying this Carson family reunion. I hope some of my regular reviewers will note that I have named a few characters in their honor. There are a few more new characters and I will be working more of you in.**

**Don't worry, we'll be heading back to Downton very soon.**


	18. Chapter 18

After dinner, the ladies headed back into the salon to talk about Elsie's wedding dress while the men stayed back to sip brandy and not talk about Elsie's wedding dress.

Timothy Carson was more comfortable talking when it was just the men. He had never been very good with women. Nonna Carson had been an aggressive woman who knew what she wanted and usually got what she went after, including Timothy.

People who did not know her well thought Nonna ruthless and cold. Despite this, she and Timothy had lived happily together and had raised a son they were both proud of; a rare mixture of ambition and generosity. Losing contact with Charles was the only thing Timothy regretted from those years of marriage. And now, he could correct that mistake.

"Have you given any more thought to my offer, Charles? We are looking to expand our wine supply operation. There are still some postwar opportunities to be had. The contacts and guidance you've given us have already paid dividends." Fredrick nodded his agreement as Timothy spoke.

"I have not had a chance to discuss this with Elsie, uncle. I have enjoyed the new challenge of dealing with supply on such a large scale, but I have a feeling both of us would prefer to return to Downton if we are welcomed there. It is our home." Charles saw that his uncle was sincerely disappointed. "But I shall ask her. Perhaps I am making an incorrect assumption. Right now, I think we will focus on getting through the wedding."

Fredrick finished his brandy and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Speaking of the wedding, if you think they are done discussing the dress, I think we should go through. Charles, you promised the girls you would show them a card trick."

"I am not convinced that I did promise that, but it seems they are expecting one, so I shall oblige them." Charles flexed his fingers as the men began to filter out the dining room door. "Mr. Strick," Charles addressed the butler as they left, "the wine with the third course was perfect. I would never have thought of pairing that with pork. With your permission, I shall be stealing that trick when I return to Downton."

"I would be honored, Mr. Charles." The old butler smiled after the room had emptied. Strick had hoped to impress the Downton butler with that choice. On previous evenings, the two butlers had talked shop and exchanged notes after dinner. Charles had always been very complimentary and deferential to Strick's years of experience. The old butler hoped they had not seen the last of Mr. Charles Carson. It was gratifying to be appreciated by an accomplished colleague.

CE—

Charlie Carson, card shark extraordinaire, sat at the card table now delighting the young Carson girls with card trick after card trick.

Once again, Charles played the reluctant performer, but, once again, he was very obviously enjoying himself. Card tricks had always fascinated him, even before he joined Criswell's magic act. Once he'd been taught some of the insider tricks, he had filled quiet hours on the train trying to invent new ones. His mind was more analytical and less theatrical, so he had needed help creating the proper flourishes to make the tricks appealing. Some of the variations he and Criswell perfected were still in use on the circuit.

He had started with some simple shuffles, alternately flashing the Ace of Spades and the Queen of Hearts while talking some patter. When he had the girls convinced this was the best he could do, he added the one handed shuffle and fan. They were suitably impressed.

His shuffling skills were still sharp because he kept a deck of cards in his room in London. On nights during the Season when he could not sleep or when he could not get his mind to shutdown properly, he would shuffle the cards almost ritualistically. Slowly, his mind would be drawn to the dance of the cards and the cares of the day would dissipate. He did not need the cards at Downton because he was able to end each day with Elsie with whom he shared his burdens. If sleep did not come swiftly at Downton, it was for completely different reasons and cards were not the solution.

Now he started with the true tricks. Of course, he'd spent most of the shuffling surreptitiously marking the cards with his thumb nail. The marks were only visible from a certain angle and even then, could be passed off as nondescript scratches.

Most of the tricks took a good deal of concentration, but he threw in a simple one every now and then so he could look up at Elsie, where she sat nearby with one ear on the adult conversation. He smiled to see how her eyes sparkled as they followed the cards. If he paused in the shuffle, she would look up expectantly and their eyes would meet. After being caught a few times, she smiled at him, shook her head and turned her full attention to the discussion between the adults.

They had been talking about how much Hull had changed over the past few generations. Everyone but Emily and Elsie had been born and raised in Hull, so they had many memories in common; favorite butcher, favorite park, least favorite restaurant, etc.

Finally, the subject of Charles' father came up. The conversation was a bit distracting to Charles, but he tried to focus on the cards. Charles did not know much about either of his parents. His grandfather and uncle were the only family he had ever seen on a regular basis. His parents were mythical creatures to him. He knew they must have existed because _he_ existed, but his memories were vague. And there were no photos; only a few letters, two coins and a ring. He tried not to think of them too often, as one dares not look into a deep well for fear of being drawn into the darkness.

Charles had not asked his uncle about his parents during the past few weeks because the topic opened up old wounds of how he had been left at Downton after his mother's death and then forcibly removed to Hull after his father's. Now, the cards slowed. Charles showed Brittany her card without much fanfare. "How did you do that?"

"Some day, I will show you, child. But I think you've both seen enough tonight. Here. See if you can do the bridge shuffle." He pushed the deck across the table. Annette, being the elder, took the deck and began to shuffle. She tried to give it a flourish and threw most of the cards right off the table. The girls laughed as they crawled under the table to collect the scattered cards.

Charles rose from the card table and joined the other adults at the couches and chairs. He leaned next to Elsie, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"David was in love with Caroline Dickens from the second he saw her. We were trying to raise the money to buy a boat together. I was clerking at a local dried goods store. He'd been doing some journeyman carpentry and ended up on the Grantham estate. David was a dab hand at anything he tried. There was a lot of work for carpenters at the time, even if you weren't in a guild. After his first payment from Downton he sent me the money and in the letter he added 'Timmy, you must congratulate me. I have met the woman I intend to marry.'

"Apparently, he won her heart almost as quickly. They were engaged within two months of meeting. A few months after that, the work on Downton was finished. We still didn't have the money for a boat, so he had to leave and follow the work. He visited Downton when he could, but mostly, he worked. Finally, over a year after they'd met, we finally had the money for our boat and they were married.

"It was a small, quick ceremony held in Downton village. He brought her back to Hull and started fishing. And six months later, our Charles arrived."

Charles sat up at this revelation_. I was conceived out of wedlock?_ This was news to Charles. He did not know his parents' wedding date so he had not done the math. It seemed like a silly thing to be upset about and he tried to set his shock aside. But, to him it was just another reminder of the class he had escaped. At least an upper class family would have made sure the child was born away from prying eyes.

"Don't look so embarrassed, Charles." His uncle said kindly, "They'd been engaged for over 9 months before they were married. They were not the first couple to jump the gun, nor were they the last." Knowing looks were passed around amongst the two married couples. Then they all looked at the engaged couple. Charles blushed to the root of his hair as he realized they probably assumed he and Elsie had 'jumped the gun'. He was about to defend Elsie's honor when he felt her hand gently cover his hand on her shoulder. They were among friends. This was not the place for his over developed sense of propriety.

Choosing to ignore Charles' discomfort, Timothy continued, "They were hoping he'd be a few weeks late and they could pass it off as an early birth, but they didn't even try to convince folks that a twelve pound boy was 3 months early. That was stretching credulity."

Suzanne leaned across Elsie to stage whisper to Emily, "That's not all that was stretched."

Annette and Brittany looked up from under the card table in disbelief. Adults were strange, and no mistake. They wished they had heard the remark that set the three women laughing so hard and had turned Cousin Charles absolutely scarlet.

* * *

**A/N Tomorrow, we return to Downton! Please review if you've the time and the inclination.**


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning, Nathan, Suzanne, Charles, Elsie and Fredrick boarded the train to York, where they would catch their connection to Downton. Emily didn't like the idea of lodging the girls at the Grantham Arms so the three of them would come for the wedding on Monday. Uncle Timothy's doctor had not cleared him to travel so he'd given Charles his blessing when he left the house. Elsie had promised the night before to send him some wedding cake back with Emily. Emily promised to try to keep the girls from devouring it before they reached home.

Once they had boarded, Charles and Elsie headed to the dining car for some tea and a chat. They had not found any time to be alone since the all too brief moments on the _Suzie Q_. Elsie quickly secured a small table in the corner of the car while Charles fetched the tea. He was back shortly but had an uncertain look on his face.

"Well, it's hot and the water is stained a bit, but I will not insult you or England by calling this 'tea'." He apologized.

"It's no matter, love. I'm just glad to get you to myself for a bit. I don't think we'll get much time alone from now until Monday evening." At the mention of Monday night, they both grinned sheepishly.

Charles took a large swig of his slightly flavored hot water and tried not to choke. After a few awkward moments, he began, "I should tell you that Uncle Timothy and Fredrick have offered me a position at their company." Her eyes widened with surprise. Elsie was not shocked by them offering, but she was surprised that Charles seemed to be considering it. She let him continue. "I do not think it was an offer made out of pity or familial obligation. I believe they actually value what I could bring to the business. Of course, I'd have to believe that." He shrugged here. "I've told them that you and I are still hopeful that we can continue at Downton, but I wanted to discuss it with you."

"Of course they would want you, Charles. Your methods might be a bit plodding at times," she tapped his foot lovingly with hers at this jibe, "but you are thorough and meticulous and have a good head for numbers."

He smiled gratefully at the backhanded compliment, but stayed on topic. "Before we informed the family about our engagement, we discussed our options, but we have some new options to consider. And the reception of our news was not exactly what we had hoped." At this, she reached across the table and took hold of his hand. He squeezed her hand appreciatively in return. It still stung him to remember his final encounters with His Lordship. Even if he could not remain as butler, he wanted to know that Robert had not truly believed the cruel things he had said. He knew their difference in station kept them from ever being friends, but he had thought they had a relationship that transcended butler and master.

"Our new option is to start life over in Hull. The salary my uncle is offering is quite generous. We could afford to set up our own small house. Would you like to run your own household, my love? We could get you a few maids to train up and a cook to fight with. If Mrs. Patmore will give us a discount, we could hire her, but you'd probably have to give her a storage cupboard key."

Elsie laughed at this. "Never! I mean about the key." She was more thoughtful now. "I had not honestly ever considered running my own home with my own servants. I'm not sure how I feel about that." Would it keep her busy enough? After years of sixteen hour days was she even capable of living like that? She had to slow down eventually, didn't she? Could she wait at home while he went off to work? It was not as though they saw each other every second of every day at Downton, quite the opposite. Sometimes they only saw each other at meals.

"We do not have to decide straight away." He reassured her. "In the short term, there are some rooms over one of the warehouses that are available to us immediately. We are used to living in attics, so that would not be much of an adjustment. The warehouse is close to the shipping docks, but not too far from Nathan and Suzanne, so we would have friends nearby.

"I've seen the rooms. They are clean and could be very cozy with a few personal touches. There is a kitchen, a small bath, a sitting room and a bedroom. It's a flat, all located above the warehouse. It would be very quiet at night and very noisy during the day."

"Well, we are used to that, are we not?" Elsie reminded him.

"Yes, I suppose we are. If we found that the situation did not suit us, we could seek employment elsewhere or it is available if we still need to wait out His Lordship's mood." Charles contemplated a scratch on the table deeply. "If you don't want to set up a house, we could stay in the flat over the warehouse and you could come work with me."

He rushed on before she could object. "I know female clerks aren't the normal thing, but I'd be a liar if I did not admit that you are much better at the bookkeeping than I am. The project is big enough that I would have to hire a few extra hands. Fredrick would not object if I told him I could recruit such an experienced bookkeeper. Plus, there is the added bonus that we know we work well together."

She looked at him incredulously. "Who are you and what have you done with Charles Carson?"

He chuckled but looked a little uncomfortable. "I am Charles Carson. I believe the stick in the mud you are looking for is called Mr. Carson. And I'm just throwing out ideas now, Elsie. I don't want to turn our lives upside down and end up in a situation that works for one of us, but not the other. Hull seems like a perfect solution in many ways, but you've only just met everyone and the idea of moving there must be more than a little frightening."

"It is," she admitted, "but the odd thing is, Suzanne and Emily and I were discussing something besides wedding dresses before you gentlemen came through last night. It so happens we were discussing Hull."

"Really? You were talking of moving to Hull?"

"Not exactly. They were talking about how most of the wealthier families in Hull don't keep large standing staffs, but then they cannot find qualified help for large events. Emily had been trying to schedule a Christmas party but cannot secure staff.

"Apparently, most houses either use hotel staff or they try to pay some unqualified girls, thinking all they need is to fit the livery." Elsie's face was animated as she defined the problem. Charles could tell by the way she was speaking that she had already devised the solution.

"Suzanne has been trying to organize some of her neighbors to make themselves available for these events, especially during peak times like the holidays or during the summer wedding season. Unfortunately, none of them have much experience at planning parties and directing staff."

"If only they knew someone who did." Charles smiled at her.

"If only…" They sat in silence for a bit, watching the landscape fly by them.

Charles broke the silence with the big question. "But could we be happy there?"

"If we had to be, I think we could. But I still think of Downton as home."

He finished off his tepid drink and stared at it, unsatisfied. It was time to be blunt. "The truth is, Elsie, I don't know what to expect from Lord Grantham after the wedding. I still feel I deserve an apology, but I know I can ignore those insults and just go back to how things were if that's the price of my job. But whatever action I take, I cannot help but feel that you are the one who is facing the consequences. You are younger and it is your career that is most at stake." He took both her hands now. "If you tell me that we should do whatever it takes to remain at Downton, I shall do that. An apology is nothing to me when I have all I want in you."

_Daft man_, _he meant every damn word_. Sometimes, she could swear he was manipulating her on purpose rather than accidentally always saying the right thing. "And how am I supposed to ask you to face daily humiliation so we can keep serving the man that is causing that humiliation?"

"It might not be humiliating. And if you just start with a 'Please, love...' I won't be able to deny you anything."

"Anything?" She tapped her chin as she considered. "Please, love…"

"Yes?"

"I think we should try to find a decent cup of tea when we change trains in York."

"I agree, love."

CE—

The welcoming committee at Downton station was as diverse as it was raucous. Half the indoor staff had invented errands to bring them to town and the other half had simply abandoned their posts. Alfred had drawn the short straw and was left tending the house alone. He could have left Downton in the hands of the outdoor staff, for none of the family were actually in the home. Cora, Mary, Rose and both children were waiting with their staff to welcome Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson back.

Edith was in London extending a last olive branch to Robert, though Cora suspected she was spending more time with that editor fellow. Cora wanted to hope for the best this time around, but experience had taught her to be cautious when it came to Edith's judgment in men.

Tom was due back soon with Mrs. Hughes' sister from Lancashire. He'd taken a car to meet her in Harrogate. Mary had arranged the whole thing and would have gone to meet her also had it not interfered with welcoming Mr. Carson home.

Both Mary and Cora were getting nervous now. They had hoped Tom would be back before the train. "Any sign of Mr. Branson, Anna?" Mary called to the acting housekeeper.

"Not yet, My Lady."

Not that Mrs. Hughes would be able to see her sister immediately; the station platform was so full of people. Besides all the Downton Abbey representation, it looked like half the village had decided to welcome the couple home. Because it was a Saturday, the village was busy with shoppers and idle children. Many of the people who now waited in the crowd probably had no idea whom they were awaiting.

During the planning of the wedding, Cora and Mary had been astounded at the willingness of all the merchants in the village to go an extra mile for their butler and housekeeper. They were almost as beloved in the village as they were in the house. Cora had never thought how Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were representatives of the household in the village. The two of them spent the budget so responsibly, she had assumed they might be resented in the village for their frugality.

On the contrary, though they did drive hard bargains, both housekeeper and butler spent the money fairly; making sure all the businesses in the village benefited from Downton's largess. She had spoken to Anna about this only yesterday while making some final wedding preparations. Mrs. Hughes only allowed purchasing from Ripon or Thirsk if the items needed could not be secured in the village for a reasonable price. And even then, she sent a list of the items to the stores that might consider carrying those items in the future.

Cora had almost been ashamed of herself when she realized how benevolent her senior staff members had been with her money when all she had cared about was feeding her guests the most fashionable menus possible out here in the country.

The past few weeks had driven home to Cora exactly how important maintaining Downton Abbey was to the local residents. Robert and Violet were always insisting that it was so, but now Cora truly understood. If only Robert could see. He would have been proud of his family and his household. Cora pushed those thoughts away. They had given Robert more than enough chances to come to his senses. If he thought he could 'out stubborn' the combined forces of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, he would be in London for a very long time. Cora suspected Robert would not present much challenge for Mrs. Hughes alone.

CE—

The train car jolted slightly as they navigated the last familiar turn into the village. The weary passengers began to gather up their belongings. Charles helped Elsie into her coat and handed down her bag.

Not used to traveling by rail, Nathan had stuck his head out the window to look ahead of the train. The cold blast felt lovely after the overheated interior of their compartment. "Is it some sort of local holiday?" He asked, raising the window back to the closed position.

"Not that I am aware of." Charles was shrugging into his own coat now. "Why do you ask?"

"There seems to be a mob of people at the station."

* * *

**A/N Welcome home, Chelsie!**


	20. Chapter 20

The station master was not pleased with the situation.

"Please, you must stand back, this is not safe!" He yelled at the top of his voice, trying to keep the crowd back from the edge of the platform. The platform was built to accommodate perhaps twenty people. At least twice that number was present. "We have to have room for them to exit the train!" No one was listening now. The train was in sight; the crowd was pushing forward.

"RIGHT!" John Bates' great voice boomed over the noise. "Everyone stand back. NOW!"

The crowd noise dropped to a grumble, but the forward movement stopped. Anna heard a horn honk and was about to admonish the driver when she heard Tom Branson calling out. "Anna! We're here! Anna!"

John helped Anna push through the crowd to reach the steps as Tom led a smartly dressed woman towards them. Her hair was white and she was more heavyset than Mrs. Hughes, but the resemblance was obvious. If she was overwhelmed by the number of people at the station, she did not show it. Her face was implacable, almost imperious as she surveyed the scene. When Anna reached her, however, she flashed a quick smile that Anna recognized.

"You must be Anna Bates, my sister has written so much about you. And you, Mr. Bates. Our little corner of Lancashire was very glad when the news reached us that justice had been served and you were freed." She shook both their hands in turn and spoke kindly, even intimately, despite the chaos of the platform.

"It is wonderful to meet you as well, Mrs. McAvoy, but the train is arriving just now, would you like to join the family?" Anna followed John back through the press of people, drawing Mrs. McAvoy and Tom after her.

CE—

"A mob, you say?" Charles could not fathom why there would be any interest in the train from York. This trip terminated in Manchester and was not very well traveled from Downton. "I wonder what the excitement is."

"Daft man." Elsie shook her head at Fredrick and Nathan who were smiling and finally stared at Charles until the truth dawned.

"Us? They are here for us?" Panic filled his eyes. Elsie knew his apprehension was real and tried not to laugh at this great man looking like a trapped rabbit. His job, his life, was about being unseen; about melting into the background. He did not like to be the center of attention, let alone the epicenter of a great event. The next few days were going to be trying for him, and subsequently for her.

"Is there not another way off the train? We could hide somewhere, continue to Ripon and take the bus back." He looked ready to jump out the opposite window. She needed to calm him quickly.

"Just stick with me, love." She lay a hand gently on his arm.

"Don't make us escort you off this train like a criminal, Charles." Nathan warned him kindly. "Because we will."

Finally, Charles sighed with resignation. "I've no doubt of it. Very well, I suppose there is no choice." He set his shoulders like a man about to run into a rainstorm. His face was stern and determined. He set his hat on his head with too much force and it rode low over his brows and ears.

Now Elsie did have to laugh. She adjusted his hat and took his arm. "A smile wouldn't go amiss, Charles. Or these people will think I am forcing you to marry me." She poked his side under the arm she had taken. She was glad to see he was smiling.

CE—

As the train slowed, someone cried out from the crowd, "I see them!" There was another surge forward as people craned their necks for a better view. There was chaos for a few moments as the train finally pulled to a stop. One of the Second Class doors opened. Mrs. Hughes stepped onto the platform trying to look as though being greeted by over fifty people was a normal occurrence.

He was trying to smile at the familiar faces in the crowd and nod appreciatively, but Charles was absolutely focused on Elsie. His plan was to hold on to her like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. Just as he smiled at a beaming Mrs. Patmore and looked down the platform to see most of the family waiting, his plan was smashed. Mrs. Hughes dropped her bag and ripped herself from his arm. "May!" He lost sight of her as she ran off towards the family as well wishers washed over him.

Charles was tempted to push people out of his way to reach her, but he stilled his panic and reached down inside to find the unflappable butler. He raised his voice to be heard as he introduced Nathan and Fredrick to everyone in the immediate vicinity. No one noticed exactly when the train pulled away, they were just glad the steam was gone.

Charles kept trying to move down the platform to where he thought Elsie must be, but never moved far. He shook countless hands and received countless pecks on the cheek from the women in the crowd. _When did Downton become such an affectionate place? _he wondered. _Perhaps it's the beard_. Whatever the reason, women did seem to want to touch his face. "Thank you, for the welcome, Mrs. Beadle; Mr. Beadle." Charles handed the postal matron's hand back to her husband after removing it from his face where it had lingered just a bit too long for his comfort.

A small group of village children ran up to shake his hand. He recognized most of them and knew what they wanted. Reaching into his coat pocket, Charles pulled out a small bag of peppermints. He handed the whole bag to the largest boy, a lad named Kenny, whom he knew would share the candy properly.

Then, without warning, Beryl Patmore had taken his face in both her hands, kissed him full on the mouth and scratched him under the chin like a dog while Daisy looked on with a gob smacked expression that mirrored his own. With no possible response to that, Charles turned to his right to shake another hand. "Mr. Mason, I can't believe you came to town just to welcome us back." The small man blushed a bit and then mumbled something about Mrs. Hughes always being very good to his William and to Daisy.

There was a lull in the chaos as Nathan and Fredrick received their slightly less affectionate greetings from Mrs. Patmore. Charles scanned the crowd for Elsie and thought perhaps he saw her hat. What he really saw was how much Elsie meant to this village. She would never be embraced like this at Hull. She belonged here. He belonged with her. He would not beg His Lordship to return for the wedding, but he would return to Downton without demanding an apology.

Though making Elsie happy was the most important thing, how could he take her away from the house and village that obviously needed her and loved her almost as much as he did? He could swallow his pride easily.

The sea of people was finally thinning and people were headed back to their own business with shouts of, "Welcome back." "See you on Monday." "Good to have you home." Finally, Charles did see her hat, and several other black hats heading towards him. He had not moved more than two feet since stepping off the train. Their bags sat at his feet.

"Charles!" He was startled that she would use his Christian name in so public a setting. It was a sure sign that she was very excited about something. She ran up to him, flushed and almost breathless. "Charles, I want you to meet my sister, Mrs. Maisie McAvoy."

"Mrs. McAvoy, I was given to understand you would not be able to make the ceremony. I am very glad to have been misinformed." Maisie and Elsie exchanged a look and both laughed heartily.

"What did I tell you?" Elsie laughed.

"Almost word for word!" Turning back to Charles, Maisie said, "If we are to be brother and sister, Mr. Carson, you must call me May. And I had thought I would miss the wedding, but your Lady Mary has arranged everything and here I am." She held her hand out to him.

It did not feel right to simply shake her hand, but an embrace felt wrong too. Unsure of what to do, he bowed down and kissed her offered hand. "I am very glad you are here, May. You must call me Charles."

Elsie was back on his arm now. As glad as he was to have her back, he was still a little miffed at being deserted within two seconds of stepping off the train. "Just stick with me, love?" he whispered accusingly.

She bit her lower lip at this. "I did rather abandon you, didn't I? But I have not seen May in several years and I did not expect to see her for several more months at least. Surely you can forgive me."

"Well, just this once." Now he turned to the family and the remaining Downton servants. They were all looking at him rather strangely. He smiled bashfully and bent down to pick up his valise. "This was quite a welcome home, My Lady. I am very humbled, as is Mrs. Hughes, I am sure."

Elsie shook her head at this, "Charles, they didn't come out here to welcome _me_ home. I've only been gone for two days."

It had never occurred to him that they were here for him. It still did not make any sense to him. "I missed you after only two days." He argued.

She laughed and patted his arm. "Have it your way, love. They came to welcome _us _home."

He looked around the platform, "Have you left Alfred at the house all alone?"

Cora could not help but laugh at his dismay. _Old habits die hard._ "I believe we did, Mr. Carson. If we could have brought the house brick by brick here to welcome you back, we would have done that too." There was a bit of sadness as she thought, _It might be easier to move the house than to move a certain Earl. _

_"_But we have arranged some refreshments at Crawley House. Lady Violet and Mrs. Crawley are awaiting us all."

Charles was only slightly aware of Mrs. Patmore saying, "No, Daisy, not you."

* * *

**A/N- Yes, this was a very "It's A Wonderful Life" scene, but I really think these two are the heart and soul of Downton; the house, the village and the show. Things will get a bit more serious tomorrow…**


	21. Chapter 21

If the welcome tea at Crawley House was any indication, the Wedding Breakfast at the Dowager House was going to be quite a trial for Mr. Carson. He refused to sit at first, hovering about and eyeing everyone's tea cup. He looked like he wished he were holding a pot with which to serve.

He made sure to thank Lady Mary for arranging to bring May to Downton for the wedding. After that, Carson did not know what to do with himself. It was simply impossible for him to relax. There was absolutely no class distinction being observed. Lady Violet was sitting next to Anna and chatting across Mrs. Crawley to May and Elsie. Cora, Fredrick, John, Suzanne and Mary were standing around the tea trolley talking like old friends. He felt as though he'd been dropped in a desert with no visible roads or landmarks, no map and no compass. He needed boundaries and rules to guide him.

Elsie finally was able break away from the conversation to whisper to him. "Dear, please sit down. You are making everyone uncomfortable."

"Turnabout is fair play." Was all he could say through his dry mouth. But he did manage to find a chair near Nathan, Tom and Rose where his silent bulk was less of a distraction.

Elsie was having too much fun to worry about his neuroses today. She was back home. She was surrounded by everyone she loved best. She would be married in two days to the beautiful, daft man pouting in the corner. There could not possibly be anything to disturb this day.

And then Lady Edith arrived from London.

She greeted her family and was introduced to all the new comers. Edith gave a quick shake of her head when asked about Lord Grantham. "No joy, I am afraid. And Aunt Rosamund has been working on him nonstop since he arrived. I think she is ready to give up as well. She is talking about coming up Monday for the wedding."

Edith had brought her shopping bags into the parlor with her and was digging around in them, looking for something, which she finally located. "I have the 'Thank You' notes you requested, Mrs. Hughes. Shall I put them with the gifts when I go by the Dowager House?"

"Yes, thank you, My Lady."

Charles stirred from his hibernation at this exchange. "Gifts? Surely we are not accepting gifts, Mrs. Hughes." What would they do with them? What could they possibly need?

"People have been told expressly not to send or bring any gifts, Mr. Carson, but there are some people who simply cannot be helped. Most of it is wine or food for tomorrow. Lady Edith has been very helpful in keeping track of everything."

"Which reminds me. There was a case of champagne from Dame Tamara Stojaspal. Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, you never told us you knew Dame Tamara."

"I don't even know who that is." Elsie said, confused.

"Well, the card said 'To my very dear friend.'" Edith helpfully added and looked at Charles who was trying to melt out of existence. This was not something he wished to discuss at the present time; in the present company.

"Who?" The Dowager Countess instinctively wanted in on this conversation. There was tension in the air and she could not help herself.

"Dame Tamara Stojaspal, a famous soprano. I believe she simply goes by Dame Tamara." Edith expounded.

"I shouldn't wonder, with a name like Stodgepile."

"Stojaspal, My Lady. Her husband was Czech, from Bohemia. She was born in Britain, but I believe her family has roots in Bohemia." _Stop talking,_ the voice in his head told him.

"Why does that name sound familiar?" Isobel asked. "I am sure I have heard of her and I do not follow the opera at all."

The room was looking at Mr. Carson expectantly. He was disappointed to find that he was as far from the door as it was possible to be. He had no means of escape. He glowered at Lady Edith. She did look honestly contrite, but he knew the damage was done.

"You might have heard her name in conjunction with a minor scandal near the end of the war. She had just been awarded Dame Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire by King George." Carson explained, wondering how to word it exactly. "Throughout the war, she traveled to the trenches to entertain the officers. On this particular occasion, she distributed a series of pictures of herself to the French and English enlisted soldiers to boost morale."

"I remember now," Isobel enthused but then her brow knitted with consternation. "If I am remembering correctly they were…" Oh, how she wished she had not brought it up, "…nude pictures."

"I'm sure that boosted morale, alright." Nathan commented. Suzanne hit him lightly on the back of the head as she stood behind his chair.

"But wasn't she a little old to pose in the nude?" Mary asked. She did follow the opera world and had actually seen Dame Tamara during her last season in London, before the war. She had a lovely, mature soprano voice and, while still very beautiful, must have been at least sixty at the time.

"I understood they were paintings based on some photos from her youth. She always was an exhibitionist." Charles admitted. Elsie was not looking at him. "Though I had heard that they were seminude, whatever that means." _You are not helping matters, Charles_, he admonished himself.

"Well, that makes it all better." Lady Violet was fanning herself and trying not to look scandalized. She had just wanted people to be mildly embarrassed, she had not asked for this. This kind of vulgar conversation was what you get for mixing the classes. She should have known better. And she had been having such a good time. Still, she could not help asking, "And how exactly do you know this woman, Mr. Carson?"

Most of the people in the room already knew he had spent time on the stage, but Carson had never spoken of it so openly in front of so many people. He bit the bullet. "I was friends with Tamara and her husband, Anton, during my time with the Vaudeville troupe in the late seventies; just before I returned to Downton as second footman, My Lady."

Tom, Mary, Edith and Isobel were the only people present who had not been aware of Carson's past. Looking around, they quickly realized that this information was not an equal surprise to everyone. Robert had told Cora about their butler's past years ago. Elsie had expressly written May a letter the day she'd found out about his past from Mrs. Pearson, the departing housekeeper.

"She and her husband left the troupe a little after I did to begin a career in legitimate opera."

"So, you knew her before she was a respectable performer who distributed nude pictures of herself?" Edith confirmed. Sensing the tension, she tried for levity. "Goodness, what was her act like before?" No one was laughing. Mary glared at Edith. What a thing to make the man admit two days before his wedding.

Elsie had heard enough. "Anna, I've just remembered something I need to do at Downton before tomorrow, perhaps we should head back now. Thank you for everything, Mrs. Crawley. May, I'd love to show you Downton…" She didn't even finish her sentence but bolted out the door with Anna and May in her wake.

Charles rose to go with them. "I should come as well…"

"Best not, Mr. Carson." John said. "We've set you up at the Grantham Arms for the next few days. Downton will have to do without you for a while yet."

"But, Mrs. Hughes…"

"Needs a little space just now, Mr. Carson."

The uncomfortable silence that followed Mrs. Hughes' exit swallowed them all. Finally, Charles rose to leave. "Thank you, for a thoughtful welcome home, all of you. I think we should go check into the Grantham Arms and unpack. It has been an eventful day."

Edith followed him into the hallway as he gathered his coat and bag. "Mr. Carson, I am so sorry, I did not mean to start anything."

"Sometimes, Lady Edith, I do not believe you properly consider the consequences before you act." It was the kindest thing he could bring himself to say at the moment.

She thought of Michael. "No, Mr. Carson, sometimes I do not."

CE—

It did not take Charles very long to unpack in the little room he and Fredrick were to share for the next two nights. Suzanne and Nathan were settling in across the hall.

"I am going to go for a walk, Fredrick. Please do not wait dinner for me. I can grab something whenever I get back."

"She'll get over it, Charles." Fredrick tried to comfort him. "She was probably just embarrassed that she didn't know."

"I'm sure she was. But have you ever angered a Scot, Fredrick?"

"Yes."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"Not well." Fredrick admitted. "But he wasn't in love with me." Fredrick risked a smile here.

Charles smiled back, despite himself. "Well, I suppose I do have that in my favor. I'll be back after I've reminded her of that little fact."

CE—

Charles' walk to Downton was grey and foggy but his confidence grew with every step. Elsie was a sensible woman. He did not blame her for walking out of Crawley House, but he had not done anything wrong and she would see that.

It seemed odd to ring at the back door, but he felt that he must. Alfred opened the door to him with a shocked expression, but recovered admirably.

"Will you please ask Mrs. Hughes to meet me in the garden, Alfred?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." He turned to go, but paused and turned back. "And I would like to say welcome back, Mr. Carson. You have been greatly missed."

"Thank you, Alfred." Mr. Carson smiled at the talk young man kindly. "Thank you for looking after Downton in my absence."

After Alfred left, Charles walked slowly to the garden. The path was not visible from the house and he waited here for Elsie. The quick steps he heard on the gravel were like hers, but they were not, lacking the metronome like regularity of her gait. Turning, Charles found himself face to face with May.

"I didn't think it was going to be as easy as simply asking to see her." Charles admitted. "How is she?"

"Still embarrassed, Mr. Carson."

"I didn't mean for her to be embarrassed. I had not expected Dame Tamara to hear about the wedding, let alone to send a gift. I am not a young man and there are many things about me I have not thought to tell her of."

"She knows that. It's only…" May looked at him, unsure of how much he really knew about Elsie's past. "Do you know much about our parents, Mr. Carson?"

Charles Carson understood that Maisie McAvoy was a woman to whom one speaks frankly. "I only know that there are some people who should not partake in strong drink and your father was one of those people."

She nodded, appreciating his candor. "He was never violent. Quite the opposite; drinking made him very amorous, especially with the local barmaids. The worst part of it for Elsie was how his behavior embarrassed our mother. He was indiscreet and we girls could never protect her from the village gossip."

"That sounds like the Elsie I know." It explained a lot about how important appearances were to her and how she tried to protect people. "But I cannot equate his behavior to my own. Surely she is not going to hold the actions of a woman I knew forty years ago against me."

"She was made to feel foolish in front of people whose regard is important to her. She is too hurt to think very logically at this moment."

Sometimes Elsie was so strong and stoic, Charles forgot that she had as delicate an ego as anyone. He nodded, understanding what May was saying. "And you've been sent out to yell at me for a bit?"

"Just for a bit. But I think we all know it is a foregone conclusion that she will forgive you. After all, she's been in love with you for years, if her letters are any indication."

"If I may say so, Mrs. McAvoy, you are not doing a very good job of chastising me," Charles teased her.

"If you must know, I don't feel much like I have any right to do so, Charles." She answered him seriously. "Do you know why I was not going to make the wedding?"

"I understood that your husband needed looking after." Elsie had been vague about the details.

"Yes, he walked off a curb and broke his leg. Your Lady Mary was kind enough to arrange for a local family to look after him while I am gone so at least he won't starve." May looked back towards the beautiful house where her sister had lived with this man for twenty-five years. Only her deep love for her sister kept her jealousy from getting the better of her. "I am afraid that I made the same mistake my mother did, marrying a man who…." Her voice trailed off. Why was she telling him this?

"You needn't explain anything to me, May." He was unsure of what was needed from him. This was not the conversation he had been expecting. "You know, if you would like to stay in Downton for a while…"

"Elsie has offered many times over the years, but Colin has never been as bad as our father. He's practically tame now and he's never hurt anyone but himself."

Charles wasn't sure he believed that, but he knew better than to argue with her. He waited in the dim winter light for her to say what she needed to say.

"I just wanted you to understand a little better where Elsie's reaction was coming from. It has almost nothing to do with you, but she was hurt all the same."

"I do understand better now, thank you, May." They stood in silence for a few more moments.

"Are you now properly humbled, Charles?" she smiled ironically at him. "Shall I send Elsie out to you now?"

"I would be very grateful if you would. And I will make sure to tell her how horribly you've abused me."

"Thank you, Charles." She walked back towards the house, her feet crunching along the gravel path. Her steps were so like her sister's and so unlike.

* * *

**A/N- Sorry for the little angst, but they were getting too complacent. **

**As always, reviews are lovely. Tamara is named for one of my first and most consistent reviewers, Tammy333. Thank you for your continued encouragement. Tamara may show up later, or get her own story. Not sure yet. Right now, I'm focusing on getting these two to the altar.**


	22. Chapter 22

Charles was beginning to shiver in the cool of the evening when she found him in the garden. Elsie felt silly now. She knew her response had been a dramatic overreaction and had made matters worse than they needed to be.

Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes were not people prone to such affectations. They were both too practical for behavior she associated with the upstairs set. As she approached him, she was embarrassed for a new reason.

But he was not interested in prolonging her discomfort or his. The smile that greeted her was the perfect mixture of contrition and forgiveness.

"You'd better not let that sister of yours have another go at me, Elsie. I'm not sure I'd survive."

_Lord love him, he is a terrible liar. _"I can only imagine the dressing down she gave you," Elsie smiled. "Considering she just came back into the house and told me I was the luckiest, silliest and most ungrateful woman in all of England."

"And she's on your side." He reminded her. "Imagine what she must have said to me."

"Charles," she'd reached him by now and lay both her hands upon his chest. There was a damp layer of rime on his lapels. "I am sorry for the way I embarrassed us both. It was unreasonable for me to expect to know everything about your life before Downton. We've known each other so long; it seems strange how much we still do not know about our respective pasts."

"And I look forward to sharing everything with you, even the more humiliating parts. I see now there were some things I should have warned you about. I just thought I had more time." He took her small, bare hands in his large, gloved mitts. "I'd like to explain about Tamara, if you are willing to hear it now. It might be uncomfortable for you to hear, but I think what you are imagining may be worse than the reality."

She had indeed been imagining some distressing scenarios. She could hardly bring herself to believe Charles Carson in any of those scenarios but she had not known him then. How could she judge him for the actions of a young man over forty years ago? Life had changed him; he'd admitted it years ago. The life he had lived had created this man whom she loved completely and could not bear to be without.

He needed her to hear his explanation, even if it was painful for her. "Perhaps we should go somewhere a little warmer," she offered. "There is a fire in my sitting room."

"I am not sure that is a very good idea. If you can stand the cold for a bit longer, I think I can get through this and be back in the village before it is dark." Charles did not think he would be able to tear himself away from her and a warm fire and her settee tonight. The cold would keep him focused and the dipping sun would be his alarm clock.

They were near a bench, but sitting on the cold stone would not have been very comfortable, so instead, he drew her up close to the house, out of the slight wind. Their faces were very close and the moisture of their breath mingled between them as he spoke.

"You know about the carnival I joined in Hull."

She nodded. "The magic show. Yes."

"We were doing well, but Mr. Criswell wanted more prestige and jumped at the chance to join a Vaudeville troupe. It was very different from the carnival. The hours were longer, the people were colder and the pace was frantic. We had two full shows each day. We usually stayed in a town for a week, maybe two. We traveled on Sundays and the routine repeated. I had more responsibility, handling our luggage and coordinating the staging in each new town. I was not happy.

"The moral code in the troupe was best described as loose. It did not take me long to realize that I could not likely befriend any of the women or men without compromising my own standards of conduct. So I kept to myself. I was extremely lonely.

"Anton Stojaspal was the first friend I made in the troupe. And that was over 2 months after we'd joined. During the performances, Tamara sang suggestive ballads and the popular bawdy songs of the moment. But, sometimes during rehearsals she would sing operatic arias. I liked to stick around to listen to the rehearsals just in case she did. It wasn't as though I had anywhere else to go.

"Anton noticed me attending rehearsals where I was not required and cornered me backstage one day. I thought he was going to tell me off, but instead, he asked me my opinion of Tamara's voice. She was not yet twenty five at the time, so I was honest with him when I said her voice was not mature enough for some of the arias she was attempting, but her tone was clear and the emotion was there. I thought she had a lot of potential. Not that I was much of a judge. I'd never attended an opera in my life.

"Still, he seemed to appreciate my honesty and said I had a natural ear for music. He invited me to dine with him and Tamara that night. I cannot lie. It was the most wonderful dinner I'd ever experience. It was like being with Suzanne and Nathan again, but the conversation was elevated, educated. We talked about music and modern drama. He played the piano and she sung some classical pieces. They told me wonderful stories of Prague and other European cities they'd traveled through. From that evening on, the three of us were inseparable, at meals, between shows, on the train between towns; we were always together. I was happier than I'd ever been in my life. Finally, I had friends with whom I could discuss lofty artistic topics. I had never had that before.

"They had ambitions to secure Tamara a contract with one of the London Light Opera companies. She needed more formal training. It was nice being with people who had aspirations beyond the grind of the Vaudeville stage. I still was unsure of what I wanted to do with my own life. Being with people who knew what they wanted and were working towards it was inspirational to me. Anton encouraged me to look into my career options. He could see that I did not want to remain on the circuit. I pulled out of my depression and started researching potential jobs preparatory of leaving the stage.

"They even suggested that I might be able to share rooms with them if they went to London. I didn't consider that a long term solution, but it would be nice to have somewhere to stay and friendly faces in a big, heartless city. We began to talk about going to London together as though it were an agreed upon plan.

"From my years in Hull with Nathan and Suzanne, I was used to the third wheel dynamic. It was familiar and comfortable and safe; or so I thought. From the very beginning, Tamara was a very affectionate and… tactile person. But she was that way with everyone. I chalked it up to being European. In retrospect, I was a bit obtuse.

"It was about five months after we began hanging around together that I noticed a shift in the relationship. In our outings and evenings, Anton had become the third wheel; not me. Sometimes, he would retire quite early, leaving Tamara and I up talking until all hours. He was almost twenty years older than Tamara and people gossiped that it was a marriage in name only. I had ignored these rumors because they were very affectionate with one another around me. However, I soon learned that the general opinion amongst the troupe was that there was an intimate relationship between Tamara and myself. I was upset by these rumors because I knew it meant that I would have to stop seeing them in the evenings.

"When I told them that I was not going to be joining them for dinner anymore, they wanted to know why and I told them. Their response shocked me. Not only did Tamara not care about her reputation, she told me that she'd had lovers before, with Anton's blessing.

"Anton told me they were in serious negotiations with a company in London and might be leaving the troupe soon. He said our plans were about to become reality. He invited me to come with them to London; to live with them as a companion for Tamara."

"What?" She'd let him tell his story uninterrupted to this point, but could not hold her tongue any more. "The husband invited you to be his wife's live in lover?"

"He adored her and only wanted her to be happy. Apparently that meant allowing her to go outside the marriage for an intimacy he could not always provide. They assured me they were both complicit with the arrangement.

"There were a lot of opportunities in London for a young man. I was young and naïve, Elsie." She listened, but could barely hear his words through the rush of blood in her ears. The look on his face said everything. He was terribly ashamed and was afraid that his words were hurting her. He gulped slightly before continuing. "I must admit that I actually considered their offer."

She let out her breath more audibly than she'd attended. She slapped her hands to his chest and lowered her head, laughing slightly with relief. "Lord, man, you almost had me thinking…"

"Don't forgive me too quickly, love. The reason I refused them was not because the arrangement disgusted me, though it did somewhat. The real reason I did not join them in London was that Anton was my friend. Although he professed that he was not bothered by her taking a lover, I could see that he was. And though I am sure she did ultimately take a lover, I could never do something like that to a friend. I am not the same man I was in my youth, but I have always valued friendship." Charles assured her.

"I refused them and left the troupe two weeks later. I was too ashamed to return to Hull as a failure. I took the little I had saved and decided to try to make a go of it in London on my own. When my train reached King's Cross, instead of leaving, I found myself looking at the platform for the train to York. I remembered that Her Ladyship had promised me a job if ever I was in need. After the theatre, there was an appeal to the almost monastic life of service. I boarded the train and headed north."

They'd covered the most difficult part, but there was still something Elsie needed to know. "Though we did not correspond, I did occasionally hear from Criswell and he would update me on how Tamara and Anton were doing. They were accepted into the Light Opera company and she was trained properly. She found great success and even returned to Europe for a short while to work with some well-known Czech musicians.

"Just before the war, she had a recital of Dvořák's Gypsy songs in London. It ran for several weeks during the season and was very well received. I was able to attend one of the performances. Her voice had certainly matured."

"And did you see her after the performance?"

"No. I went out of curiosity. I was not looking to reconnect with either of them.

"And then came the war and the damehood and the scandal which I followed through the Lady's journals as I ironed them in the mornings. When Anton died a few years ago, it was in the society portion of the Times. I sent a letter of condolence to the address in the paper, just like any fan would have done. I did not think she would see the letter, or that she would recognize the name if she did. I was wrong.

"She wrote me back. We've been corresponding sporadically ever since. But she did not hear about our wedding from me. I have not written to her or heard from her since last spring. I did not want her to consider the information as an invitation to attend. She rather demands attention wherever she goes and I did not want her to disrupt your day."

"And you did not want to tell your fiancé about her, I'd wager." Elsie could not help needling.

"No. I did not relish that thought." He admitted. "Though I would have told you if I had received another letter from her. Her letters are pretty harmless, usually she just sounds lonely, so I write her a few lines to cheer her up. Usually, I don't even know where she is until she writes."

"Do you have any of her letters?" She could be the judge of whether or not they were harmless.

He considered. "No, I don't believe I have any of her letters. Why would I keep them?"

She knew he was not lying. And that was at least a relief. "Well, I'm not happy to hear that you are still corresponding, but I suppose we can allow our friends to enjoy her champagne on Monday."

"Thank you for understanding, love." After kissing her forehead, he reluctantly pulled back. "I must head back to the village now or they shall come looking for me. I shall see you first thing tomorrow."

She let him separate from her but kept hold of his hands. "I think you can spare a few moments to walk through the garden with me before you leave."

"One quick turn and then I really must go." He offered her his arm and she wrapped herself around it.

"Are there any more surprises from Vaudeville I should know about?" She did not really want the answer, but needed to ask.

"There are some good stories, but I don't think there is anyone who will try to crash the wedding. There is Grigg, but you know about him, so it's nothing to worry about. Otherwise, my only real friend from from Vaudeville was a dog."

"That's unkind, Charles." She pushed back from him and looked shocked. That was rather ungentlemanly of him.

He laughed and pulled her closer to him. "No; an actual dog. A spaniel or terrier or some such mutt. There was a dog act in the troupe. They wore tutus and jumped around the stage. This particular dog had the best comedic timing of any actor I ever shared the stage with. Remind me to tell you all about Peaches sometime. It was quite a good act."

She smiled up at him. "You did that on purpose." How was it possible for him to still surprise her after all these years?

"Yes, but you walked right into it. You've quite good comedic instincts of your own, love. Have you ever considered the stage? I think people would pay good money to see you put me in my place on a regular basis."

"But that's what I already get paid to do."

"Touché" he chuckled as they walked into the frost covered garden.

* * *

**A/N- Tomorrow...STAG NIGHT!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N Insanely long chapter, but I could not find a natural break, so make yourself comfy and enjoy...**

* * *

It was Sunday, December 11th. The final Banns were read. Elsie and Charles had treated their friends and family to celebratory drinks in the Grantham Arms immediately after the service, which they had not attended, opting instead for a quiet stroll during which they went precisely nowhere.

Charles was hopeful that these few drinks would appease Tom, Fredrick and Nathan who had been talking about nothing but a stag night since they'd all arrived back at Downton. Needless to say, a few pints at the Grantham Arms was not going to satisfy them.

Fredrick and Nathan were not familiar with the county, so they left the particulars up to Tom and John. Tom had suggested something he called a pub crawl, which sounded to Charles like nothing more than a way to optimize the number of people you could make a fool of yourself in front of in one evening. Tom had hired one of the local omnibus drivers to drive the group of men around in the estate's wagonnette.

Since there were only two pubs in Downton, they were planning to start their crawl with a light meal at the Red Lion in Kirkbymoorside. Mr. Bates had arranged with his former employer to have a special meal laid out for the revelers. It was designed to fill their stomachs and lessen the effects of the alcohol. Then, they would "crawl" through Helmsly and Thirsk, working their way through all the pubs on the main road before returning to Downton to end with the Dog and Duck and finally home to the Grantham Arms where Charles, Nathan and Fredrick were still staying. All told, there were ten pubs they planned to visit. According to the rules Tom had outlined, each participant was required to have at least one drink per public house. He had arranged ahead of time with a few of the landlords to have special drinks already prepared in order to make efficient use of their time.

As the men gathered beside the vehicle, Charles began to regret allowing for a general invitation to be issued. To Charles, it looked like a motley crew and one likely to get into trouble before the evening was out. He would have been concerned enough with Tom, Fredrick and Nathan, but now there was also Thomas, Jimmy, Alfred, Dr. Clarkson, and Mr. Lowell, the new chauffeur, whom Charles barely knew. Mr. Molesley had not been invited. Mr. Bates was to be their chaperone. Charles did not envy him.

Before they departed, Charles invited his groomsmen upstairs. "I believe I am supposed to give you these tomorrow, but now seems more appropriate." He reached into his bag and retrieved four small parcels. He handed one each to Fredrick, Nathan, Tom and John. "I wanted to thank you all, for your friendship and support, not just now, but always."

Tom smiled as he opened his gift. If you tried to tell people about the soft underbelly of Charles Carson, they'd think you were having a laugh, but the man really was quite sentimental. Tom felt privileged to be one of those to whom the butler could show this softer side. Tom, Fredrick and Nathan had all received beautiful silver hip flasks with their initials and a small symbol engraved on them. Tom's flask had an intricate Celtic harp engraved below his monogram.

"If the treaty they just negotiated holds, you may be able to visit Ireland by this time next year, Mr. Branson. I know how much that would mean to you, to be able to take Miss Sybbie to visit your family in Dublin."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. It certainly will be nice, but I'll not get my hopes up yet. There is much that is still undecided." He turned to the window to hide the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. Damn, why did he cry so much? Recovering, Tom turned back to the room at large. "It so happens, I have something with which we can fill these flasks…" He produced his own wrapped gift. It was a bottle of special reserve Irish whiskey from the Tullamore distillery. Nathan whistled appreciatively. That was serious top shelf stuff.

"You should not have bought me something so fine, Cousin Charles." Fredrick was examining his own flask, waiting to have it filled. He recognized the stamp and workmanship of one of the finest silversmiths in Hull. He was sure that his father had recommended the shop to Charles. He was also sure that these gifts were not inexpensive.

"I believe it is tradition, Fredrick. And consider it a stand in for all the birthdays, Christmases, weddings and christenings I have missed." Early in his last week in Hull, Uncle Timothy had insisted on paying Charles for his work for the company. The commission for the contract he negotiated with his wine contacts in Tuscany had amounted to almost fifty pounds. Charles had not spent it all, but he had enjoyed purchasing these extravagant gifts for his friends. He had sent twenty pounds to Elsie to buy gifts for her bridesmaids.

Of course, he had not purchased a flask for Mr. Bates, whom he knew had a past with hard alcohol. Instead, John opened a small box to reveal a sturdy silver watch fob that was as fine as anything Lord Grantham owned. There was a small charm on the fob with the horse symbol of the West Yorkshire regiment on one side and the feathers of the Prince of Wales on the obverse.

"Mr. Carson, thank you. I shall wear this very proudly." He slapped Charles on the shoulder bracingly, "And don't worry, I've got your back tonight. Mrs. Hughes has given me my marching orders to see you back safely and deliver you and your best man to the church on time tomorrow."

"You should not have vouched for Nathan." Charles informed him. He closed his bag now, as they made ready to leave. As he did so, he saw the brown paper corner of the parcel that held a fourth flask that had the Grantham griffin on it under the initials R.G.C. His disappointment with Lord Grantham was now an injury not unlike Mr. Bates'. It was scarring over. It might give you a random pain now and then, but you simply limped on as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

With their flasks charged and their coats buttoned up, the men descended to find the wagonette loaded and ready to roll. _God help me,_ Charles thought as he climbed up next to Mr. Barrow who was already passing around bottles of ale. "It's a long drive to the Red Lion, Mr. Carson. Best warm up."

CE—

Meanwhile, Elsie, Maisie and Suzanne were staying at Crawley House. Isobel had insisted on throwing a bit of a hen night. All the ladies were invited and Anna and Beryl. Even Daisy was invited to attend. Elsie wanted to hear more about Mr. Mason's farm and thought this was a good opportunity to find out what Daisy really thought of her prospects.

Elsie had insisted that they open the case of champagne sent by Dame Tamara. For one thing, it would show that she was not upset with Charles over the association and secondly, it was by far the best champagne on hand. Mrs. Patmore had brought some jars of strawberries and raspberries to mix into the champagne. The ladies were getting a later start than the men, but Elsie was determined that they should still be awake when the men returned, as Mr. Bates had promised to deliver them to the Dog and Duck by ten.

Mr. Samuels at the Grantham Arms had promised to water down their drinks considerably to end the evening and to cut them off completely at midnight. It had taken some coaxing to convince him to allow them to have a lock-in the first place, so Elsie knew he would be kicking them out of the bar promptly.

Though Elsie was constantly looking at the clock early in the evening, she lost track of time midway through the fourth round of "I Never," a game Lady Rose had taught them all. They were certainly learning a lot about each other. They'd thought about reversing the rules for a round or two since Daisy had never done anything and was not getting to drink anything. But she did finally get to drink when Beryl threw her an easy one, "I never milked a cow." After that, at least once a round, they gave her an obvious one. She didn't need much champagne anyway. Isobel had mixed her a drink that was practically strawberry jam but it was going straight to her head. All titles and class distinctions disappeared around the sixth round.

When they had exhausted that game, Rose had asked for a deck of cards and tried to teach them another game, but no one was interested. "If you want to drink, then drink, girl. No one is stopping you." Beryl had told her. Their tongues loosened by the champagne, the ladies gossiped. They pumped Daisy for information about the farm and were surprised when Mrs. Patmore answered most of their questions.

"Beryl, if I didn't know any better…" Elsie led. But Mrs. Patmore just tutted at her.

"Don't go pairing us all off just because you are about to become a married woman." Still, Elsie thought she'd be watching her friend very closely tomorrow at the Breakfast. Mr. Mason was expected to attend.

"Speaking of which," Rose leaned into the conversation, a bit wobbly. "I don't mean to pry, Cousin Isobel," Edith scoffed so heartily she almost choked on her champagne. "But am I correct in noting a particular level of familiarity with a certain village physician?"

"If you mean are Dr. Clarkson and I very good friends, then yes. If you mean anything more, then I am afraid you are mistaken." Perhaps the flush on Isobel's cheeks was caused solely by the alcohol, but none of the ladies present believed it was so.

May was enjoying telling stories of the young Elsie Hughes. Beryl was especially interested in the tales of how helpless Elsie had been in the kitchen.

"How do you burn porridge?" She asked, astonished. Even Daisy looked aghast at such a feat.

There were gifts brought out at one point. There was much blushing by Elsie at the nature of the gifts and by the thought that she would have use for these gifts in less than twenty-four hours.

And so, the time passed quickly and Elsie was very surprised when a horn honked out front and a series of whoops and hollers brought all the women to the windows that overlooked the gardens at Crawley House. She looked up at the clock. It was a quarter after midnight. She should be in bed by now. Twelve hours from now, she'd be standing in front of the entire village. _With dark circles under my eyes. But what state is Charles going to be in? _

CE—

Mr. Samuels had been true to his word in kicking them out, but he had apparently kicked _all _of them out. And Elsie was not convinced that he'd diluted their drinks enough. Considering most of the men had bottles or flasks in their hands, Elsie thought she probably should not blame the landlord.

The headlights from the wagonnette illuminated the figures in the garden, casting grotesque shadows across the finely manicured lawn and hedges. Fredrick and Nathan half carried Charles between them and deposited him roughly on the bench beneath the window where he swayed slightly. He sat fairly straight but was looking around as if unsure of where exactly he was.

"Turn off the lights", Edith cried. "We don't want Mr. Carson to see Mrs. Hughes."

"By the look of it, Carson couldn't see water if he fell out of a boat." Mary laughed.

"I do not think that is how the saying goes, my dear." Cora slurred. She had also lost track of time. She had meant to leave with the girls hours ago. But she was glad they had stayed. Cora could not remember the last time she had enjoyed her daughters' company so much.

The women tittered at this exchange as Rose and Daisy lunged around the room, shutting off the lights.

Anna opened one of the windows over the garden and called down, "John, you said you'd look after them!"

Mr. Bates stood back from the main group, observing his numerous charges. "They are all here, and most of them are in one piece. I think I deserve credit for that much. It has been quite an evening."

"What do you mean 'most of them are in one piece?'" Anna asked.

Jimmy came stumbling around the corner. He was supported between Tom and Alfred. Even in the odd lighting, it was clear that there was blood down the front of his shirt. There was no sign of Thomas.

"We got into a tussle with some anti-Irish fellows in Thirsk while we were singing _Whiskey in the Jar_. One of them took a swing at Mr. Carson, but James stepped in."

Tom clapped him on the chest. "Good man! He took that right hook like a regular Mick."

"And where is Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Patmore asked from the other window.

"Thomas is passed out in the back seat of the wagonnette." John called up.

"And where exactly have you all been this evening?" Rose asked.

Tom began to count out on his fingers…"The Red Lion, The Crown Inn, The Feathers…" Alfred laughed wildly at the mention of The Feathers; Jimmy stomped on his foot. Tom gave them both a disapproving look and continued, "…The Black Bull, The Three Tuns, The Crab and Lobster…"

"Damn those Crab men!" Jimmy spat.

"You look like you took on the Lobster, James." Nathan laughed at him.

Tom ignored them all, focusing on his tally, "…The Lord Nelson, The Carpenter's Arms, The Cross Keys…"

"Cross Keys!" Fredrick called out randomly and toasted. All the men raised their bottle or flask and toasted.

John smiled and explained to the ladies, "That was not on the original list, but Mr. Carson insisted we stop because the keys reminded him of Mrs. Hughes and it would be bad luck to skip it. We rather overwhelmed the regulars, but they were very friendly when Fredrick bought everyone in the pub a round or two."

"Did I?" Fredrick asked unsteadily. "That was nice of me." He'd sat down on the bench next to Charles, who now threw his arm around his cousin's shoulders.

"Indeed it was, Freddie. Good man." Charles seemed to realize that the bottle he was swinging about was empty. The discovery sent him into a silent sulk.

Tom continued as though nothing had been said. "…then back to The Rug and Ruck, The Bog and Buck…blast."

"It's The Fog and Fu-"

"Thank you, James!" John interjected as Alfred's hand covered Jimmy's mouth.

"Ouch! Watch the nose!" Jimmy pushed himself away from Alfred and fell over into a bush.

"The _Dog _and _Duck_ and then the Grantham Arms." John finished for Tom, patting the young man on the back as he continued to count his fingers trying to figure out why there were not eleven of them.

Isobel had expected them to be in this state and rang now for the coffee that had already been prepared to be brought to the garden. The bright indoor lights glared out the windows, casting a new set of shadows and causing most of the men to groan in pain. Shielding his eyes, Nathan looked up at the windows. "Suzie, love? Are you up there?"

"Yes, Nate. I'm here."

"I've done as I promised." He bowed proudly and almost toppled over.

At this, Suzanne grinned wickedly and beckoned Elsie to the window. "I know you asked for no gifts, but Nate and I had to get you something…"

Mr. Molesley was now serving the coffee down below in tin mugs. Isobel knew better than to put anything breakable into the men's hands in this state. Charles accepted his mug gladly and drank the contents down in one swig.

Elsie looked down into the garden as Nathan began pulling Charles to his feet and seemed to be whispering something in his ear. Charles was nodding exaggeratedly. "Piece of cake." He announced, pushing Nathan gently away.

Charles looked around, as though contemplating planting a new row of hedges in the garden. Then he took the empty bottle from Alfred's hand and one from Dr. Clarkson who stood looking at James as he lay in the bush where he had fallen. In his professional opinion, the boy was just fine. Now, Charles had three empty bottles which he held up at Nathan proudly.

"I think you should stand on the bench, Charlie." Nathan prompted. "So the ladies will have a better view."

"Right." Fredrick bolted from the bench, not wanting to be trampled or to have bottles dropped on his head. After several attempts to step up on the bench, Charles looked imploringly at John. Nathan and John boosted Charles up onto the bench and then turned him to face the house.

Just when all the women were sure Mr. Carson was about to fall off the bench and break his neck, he began juggling the three bottles deftly. They spun in the crossing beams of light as he caught them neatly by the necks. He still looked like he was about to fall off the bench, but the bottles flew smoothly.

"You said you could juggle four." Nathan reminded him.

"You find me another bottle, man, and I'll show you." Charles barked at him.

"Nate!" Suzanne cried out as she leaned out the window with a champagne bottle. Nathan nodded once he saw her and caught the bottle as she dropped it.

"Oh, do be careful." Isobel whimpered. She did not think it would be a very easy task to remove broken glass from the gravel path.

"Here ya go, old boy." Nathan tossed the bottle absently towards Charles, who reached out and grabbed the larger bottle by the neck and wove it into the pattern of spinning brown glass in front of him. The bottles were flying a little higher now. Elsie was afraid Isobel was going to faint. Everyone else was mesmerized by the display. Even Jimmy had rolled out of the shrubbery and was sitting on the grass watching the show.

"Are you happy now?" Charles asked Nathan.

"How about a song or a poem of some sort, Charlie?" Nathan prompted.

"What would you like to hear?"

"I don't know. You're the educated one. What does a man usually recite beneath a lady's window in the middle of the night?" As Charles was thinking, Nathan took the empty whiskey bottle from Tom. "Can you handle one more, Charlie?" Before waiting for an answer, he tossed the bottle at Charles' knees. There were gasps from the women in the darkened windows and from the men strewn about the garden lawn alike.

Barely missing a beat, Charles stooped to grab the bottle, now tossing the other bottles even higher into the air. Two large green bottles and three smaller brown ones danced in the air. General applause pattered around him and one very relieved sigh came from Mrs. Crawley. Nathan had seen Charles juggle eight pins at once and knew this was nothing at all, even in an altered state, but decided this was impressive enough for tonight.

Charles had now decided upon his material. He had rejected Romeo and Juliet because they always made fun of his love of Shakespeare and it would be what they expected. Now if he could only remember how it went…

"Two quid says it's Shakespeare," Mary whispered back into the room.

"I'll take that bet," Elsie stepped up beside her, looking over her shoulder. "Double or nothing says it's from Cyrano." It was only the greatest balcony scene ever and she knew Charles had a dog-eared copy of the play in his pantry.

His slurred voice became more confidant with every word.

"There is just one thing I dare ask of you—a kiss!

"Kiss! The word is sweet! Do not let your lips shrink from it! If the word burns your sweet mouth, what would the kiss itself do? Oh, do not make it into a fearful matter, and then fear! Did you not a moment ago insensibly leave playfulness behind and glide without trepidation from a smile to a sigh, and then from a sigh to a tear. Glide gently further still. From a tear to a kiss there is scarcely a dividing shiver!

"When all is said and done, what is a kiss? It is simply an oath of allegiance taken in closer proximity, a promise more precise, a seal on a confession, a rose-red dot upon the letter I in 'loving'. It is a secret whispered to the mouth instead of the ear, a stolen moment that makes time eternal, a balmy communion with a flavor of flowers. A kiss is a fashion of inhaling each other's heart, and of tasting the very soul of another on one's lips!"

As he neared the end of the passage, Charles set aside the champagne bottle and then the whiskey bottle on to the bench while still juggling the other bottles. Then he caught the three beer bottles, one after the other and bowed deeply just as he finished his recital. Luckily, Nathan was there to keep him from toppling off the bench.

When the applause died down and the tears were being wiped, Charles looked up at the dark figures gathered in the window.

"And at noon, my darling Elsie, you shall have my kiss, my oath, my soul."

Mary turned to Elsie in the darkness. "Truly, you do know him best." She turned back to the window, looking at the men in the garden. She could tell they were about to become melancholy drunks, so she leaned out to lighten the mood.

"Carson, you've just cost me four pounds. I was certain you'd quote Shakespeare for us."

"I can if you wish, My Lady…

"This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,  
when we are sick in fortune,-often the surfeit  
of our own behavior,-we make guilty of our  
disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as  
if we were villains by necessity; fools by  
heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and  
treachers, by spherical predominance…

"God, no more Lear." Elsie groaned quietly.

"That's quite enough, Carson." Mary interrupted him. "Don't undo all the progress you've made tonight."

He stopped and bowed dutifully. As he stood, contemplating his options for dismounting the bench, a thought seemed to strike him. "Lady Mary, it is quite late, how is it that you are still out? And was that Lady Rose I heard? You should all be back at Downton by now. Your mother will be worried."

Cora called down, "I am not worried in the slightest Mr. Carson. We all seem to have lost track of the time."

"Your Ladyship! But how will you get home? Surely you weren't planning on walking." Charles had managed to get his feet back on the ground and was leaning heavily against the bench. He was shaking his head, trying to clear the haze. Here was a problem that needed fixing.

"We were going to get a cab from the village, but I fear they will all be gone to bed by now. Is there not room for us in the wagonnette?"

"Plenty of room, My Lady." John answered as Mr. Carson began to protest.

"Mr. Bates, have you forgotten there is a drunken under butler in the wagonnette? And this lot is not much better off. "

"But, if the doctor can sort himself out, and you three gentleman can find your own way back to the Grantham Arms, and we can manage to sit Thomas upright, we shall all fit nicely. Anna and I will take the seat between the ladies and the…others."

This development had sobered Mr. Carson very quickly. John began to suspect he was not drunk at all, though he did smell as though he should avoid open flames.

"If you'll come to the car with me, Mr. Carson, I shall show you what I propose." John drew Mr. Carson around the corner, out of earshot of the others. "You're not even drunk, are you?"

"Well, I am not as sober as a judge, but I am not as drunk as a skunk." Charles smiled at him, his eyes clearing and his words sharpening. "I could hardly disappoint my public and I could not admit to such a display as juggling without the excuse of being three sheets to the wind."

John began to laugh, "But how? I've been watching all night and you've always emptied your glass."

"After the first three pubs, Mr. Barrow has been kind enough to dispose of the majority of my portion, not that he was aware of it. I am afraid I am to blame for his current state. I will have to do something to make it up to him."

"Or you could consider it payback for the last eleven years."

"Payback is a crude concept, Mr. Bates. I should hope that I never stoop to it." But Charles continued to smile nonetheless. "Mrs. Patmore and Daisy can sit on the seat with you and Anna. Barrow, Lowell, Alfred and James can all fit in the back. That will leave the two front seats for the ladies and Mr. Branson. I would suggest Daisy ride up front with the driver, but she does not know him. Just keep an eye on Alfred around Daisy; I don't want him confusing her with his behavior."

"I'll handle it, Mr. Carson. You just see that Fredrick and Nathan get back to the Grantham Arms. Is Mrs. Heaton coming back with you?"

"No, she is staying with Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. McAvoy at Crawley House tonight." There were noises approaching from the garden and the house. Charles looked around and placed a hand on John's arm. "Thank you, for all you did tonight, John. I hope it was not too tedious."

"On the contrary, Mr. Carson, it was a very entertaining evening."

In short order, everyone was loaded into the wagonnette and the doctor and the three Grantham Arms lodgers were winding their way towards the village proper singing a sea chanty. It was well past one o'clock. Charles' head was starting to throb. He wanted more coffee. The drinking had not entirely been an act.

* * *

**A/N If you want some notion of what I'm thinking happened on the pub crawl, check out Simon Pegg's latest- The World's End. (Not really, but that would be an awesome crossover story if someone wanted to make it happen...)  
**

**Cyrano de Bergerac and King Lear are both in the public domain. I took a few liberties with the Cyrano scene; combining a few translations into something I liked better.**

**Forecast for the next three chapters:: BEFORE the Wedding... The Wedding... AFTER the Wedding... (fangirl squee)**


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning dawned far too early for most of the wedding party. But time could not move swiftly enough for the bride and bridegroom. Charles stood in front on the mirror in the shared bathroom at the Grantham Arms with a basin of hot water in front of him and a razor in his hand. Elsie had forbidden him from shaving the beard until after the wedding, but he felt it needed a bit of grooming. He cleaned up the outline of the beard a little and used the scissors to snip a few ambitious hairs that had outperformed their fellows.

He realized belatedly that his hair had grown beyond his power to tame it with just a dab of pomade. Elsie had confessed to him that she found his hair most attractive when it was a bit unruly. If he allowed himself a vain moment, he would admit that he rather liked the wavy quality his hair had when it was longer. But he had to at least make it look like he was attempting to look polished.

John had warned him last night that Edith had enlisted a photographer from her paper to document the event, so Charles was inspired to be even more particular with his appearance than usual.

Finally, he gave up. With a great gob of pomade, he combed the unruly mess into its usual style. Good lord, he'd had the same hair cut almost from the day he started as a hall boy when he was seven. The hairline had moved and the jet black color had softened to silver grey, but it was, essentially the same. If she liked his hair messed up, she could do the honors herself in a few hours. He found his mind wandering away at the thought. _Focus, man! You mustn't be so easily distracted today._

His head still ached a bit, but he'd had two doses of Beecham's mixed into a shot of whiskey first thing after waking up. Nathan's "cure" had tasted terrible, but it seemed to be working. At least there was color in his face so he didn't look like an animated corpse from a gothic novel. He would try to choke down some food before fully dressing.

Fredrick had dressed early and gone to the station to meet Emily and the girls. Charles now had the room all to himself. He returned there now. The mourning suit hung on the wardrobe, its gaze following him around the room. According to his watch, it was only eight o'clock. His foot tapped nervously. He was never going to survive the next four hours.

CE—

Elsie woke naturally at 8:15 that morning. She felt rested and peaceful. One of the largest events in Downton's recent history was about to happen and her only responsibility was to enjoy it. Maybe she could get used to a life of leisure, now that she had Charles with whom to share every idle moment. She'd considered taking breakfast in bed, but wanted to spend more time with May and Suzanne, who would both be going home immediately after the Wedding Breakfast.

Anna had returned to Crawley House by nine, sent by Lady Mary to help Elsie dress. Llewellyn would look after both Lady Cora and Lady Mary today. Elsie was assured that Beryl would be along shortly.

Elsie was surprised to find that she had a robust appetite. She had always heard that brides were too nervous to eat on their wedding day. Too happy, perhaps, but nervous? It did not even occur to Elsie to be nervous on this day of all days.

"Suzanne, I never thanked you properly for your gift last night."

"My pleasure, Elle. I think we all enjoyed it." Suzanne laughed at the memory.

Elsie still could not fully process what she had seen. It had surpassed anything she could have imagined. After his performance, all the women had looked at her with such genuine joy and had reassured her that she was marrying one of the dearest men ever. As if she needed them to remind her. "I think it will be a long time before I see anything that entertaining again."

"Oh, I shouldn't think you will have to wait very long at all." May corrected her. "I mean, you can always request a private performance." Elsie reached over and playfully slapped May's wrist.

"You are a wicked girl, Maisie Mack"

"So they tell me, Elsie Mae." May took hold of her sister's hand and squeezed it lovingly. She had many friends in 's, but she only had one sister. May vowed that they would see more of each other.

Elsie had been a little worried about how May would handle last night's displays of drunkenness. Even so far removed from the shameful years of living with their father, Elsie still had difficulty viewing intoxication as a laughing matter. But Elsie knew all the men in the group and knew that it was not a habitual behavior, so she was not disturbed by what she'd seen last night. May did not know these men. But, somehow, with only a look last night, May had put her mind at ease with the unspoken language of sisters.

"I am very glad you are here May, but you can keep that cheek to yourself." Elsie laughed. Shortly before ten, Beryl arrived and the women went upstairs to prepare Elsie Hughes for her long awaited date with Charles Carson.

Not long after the women had sequestered themselves, there was knock at the door of Crawley House. "From the Dowager Countess, for Miss Elsie Hughes," the young maid informed Mr. Molesley, handing him a large wooden box.

CE—

"No, no, the fox goes _through_ the hole and chases the rabbit…here, just let me do it." For a fisherman, Nathan was hopeless with a simple tie knot. Charles felt like he was preparing Nathan for a wedding, not the other way round.

He'd ordered some toast and jam with his coffee, but it sat, untouched next to the equally untouched coffee. He reckoned he was jumpy enough without the coffee. He looked down at his left shoe. _Damn! _He leaned down to untie the shoe.

"If you polish that shoe one more time, so help me, Charlie, I'll throw it out the window and make you walk to the church barefoot." Nathan threatened.

"Are you sure that's the proper attitude for a best man?" Charles asked him. Straightening up again. This was not at all what he'd been expecting. How was it possible that time had completely stopped?

"Yes, actually. I need to keep you focused on what is important."

"And what is that?" Charles wanted very much to know.

"Absolutely nothing." Charles looked up, shocked by such an answer. "Nothing to do with you, anyway. All _you_ have to do is show up. You probably could show up barefoot and Elsie'd be the only one who noticed. And even then, she probably wouldn't care."

"Thank you…I think." Finally, Charles laughed at himself. Maybe the reason he was so nervous today was because he did not have enough to do. "Yes, I needed to hear that. Thank you, Nathan."

"Then my job is half done. My only other role is to provide the liquid courage if you need it." He patted his pocket where a freshly filled flask sloshed slightly.

"I think I've had enough of that for the foreseeable future, but it's good to know you've got it, just in case."

They sat in silence, as if waiting for a sign. None came. "Do you think it's too soon to head to the church?" Charles asked.

Nathan stuck his head out the window in his room across the hall. "There are people walking over already, if you feel like facing them, I think we can head over whenever you like."

"Right. I think we should go then or I will either polish your shoes or I will rip out and replace the seam of my coat tail. There is one stitch that has been bothering me…"

Nathan grabbed the offending coat from its hanger and held it out for Charles to put on. "For the love of God, let's go, then. Maybe you can entertain the guests while they wait; juggle some vases or something."

"That was a onetime performance, Nathan."

"Please, Charlie, remember who you are speaking to. I know what a big ham you are at heart."

"Well, I'll thank you to keep that to yourself."

"What are best men for?"

"I'm really starting to wonder."

CE—

Charles had run the gauntlet of guests upon arriving at the church. He was almost as overwhelmed as he had been at the station, but this crowd was better behaved. The women were at least slowed down by their massive hats. John and Tom were escorting people to their seats and dividing the guests evenly. Almost every person present could have sat on either the Bride's side or the Groom's. Since Charles had more family present, it was decided that the Crawley family would sit behind Elsie. But they had insisted on giving pride of place to May, Beryl and Anna; Elsie's true family.

Charles thought that most of the town would choose to sit behind Elsie if they were given the choice, but both sides were filling nicely, even with almost a half hour until the service. It was shaping up to be standing room only. Once more, he was touched to see how much the village valued them both, though he gave most of the credit to Elsie.

This was not the staged and raucous event of Lady Mary's wedding, with a crowd of people outside the churchyard, waving flags. This time, the doors had been flung open and the crowd had come inside. The village was truly happy for them. They had not just come for the sake of a spectacle and the hope of catching some coins. Though there was some spectacle and most of the town was expecting at least a slice of cake.

Charles had finally worked his way to the front when Lady Mary approached him. She took his arm and moved him to a quieter corner of the church where they were granted some privacy by a large flower display. The flowers that lined the altar were ivory roses with sprigs of lavender and purple heather accenting the arrangement. The lavender and heather accented the pews along the aisle with their pastel purple hues and their light fragrance.

"I wanted to congratulate you before the ceremony, Carson." Mary began. "The family will not be staying at the Wedding Breakfast very long as we are still technically in mourning." Charles had noticed the family arriving. They were not dressed in full black, but in very tasteful grey. It was respectful both to Mr. Crawley and to the happy couple.

"I understand, My Lady. The family has already made so many concessions for this event. We shall always be grateful."

"Not the entire family." Mary could not help noting.

"No, but the rest of you have more than made up for any other unpleasantness." Carson reassured her. "The flowers are beautiful. Mrs. Hughes is going to be very happy with what you young ladies have done. Please express my gratitude to Lady Edith and Lady Rose in case I do not have the opportunity today."

"Of course, but we were happy to do it, Carson. It has been the loveliest task. Though I do not think Mrs. Hughes will notice anything today except a certain man at the end of the aisle. I know I did not." A cloud passed over her face.

"Mr. Travis _is_ a very distracting sight in his robes, but I'm sure the Archbishop was very difficult to resist." Charles coaxed a smile out of her with this.

"Do you suppose their robes are like kilts?" Mary asked mischievously.

"In what sense, my lady?" Not believing she was implying what he thought she was, Carson gave her a chance to explain.

She chose not to. "Never mind, I wouldn't want you to be distracted during the service."

It was Carson's turn to look sad. She knew there was only one source of distraction for him today. "Don't think of Papa, Carson. Don't let him detract from a beautiful day." But she was the one who could not let the topic go.

"I am so angry that he has cast a cloud over this whole affair. You should have been here these last few weeks, you should have enjoyed this special time with Mrs. Hughes. I don't know how I shall ever forgive him."

"While I am grateful for the sentiment, I believe it is for me and Mrs. Hughes to forgive your father for his slights against us." Carson reminded her gently. "I wish you would mend things with your father for your own sake, My Lady."

"After how he has treated you and Mrs. Hughes?" Mary asked, indignant.

"That is our affair, and this dispute did not happen in a vacuum. I certainly played my part." Mr. Carson admitted.

She did not want to ask, but she had to. "Was I the cause, Carson?" The timing of the falling out plagued her. She knew it all started in the nursery.

He had to be honest with her. "No, My Lady, you were not the cause; but perhaps you were an excuse, the tinder that caught the spark."

She nodded, accepting his answer, but still feeling guilty. "I wanted to tell you that I asked Papa if you could be a god parent for George. I regret that I listened to him and did not ask you."

"I am very touched, My Lady, but you know I would have had to decline. A god parent must be able to support and assist a child in the absence of their parents. I am hardly in a position to raise a child."

"You raised me; and Edith and Sybil."

"In so far as that is true, I was honored to do so; as I am honored that you even considered me as a potential god parent for Master George."

"If Mr. Crawley had not…" she faltered, "That is, he was very keen that you should have been George's second god father. I should not have let Papa talk me out of it."

Carson gave her that smile of his; the look she would always associate with unreserved acceptance. "It is enough to know that you and Mr. Crawley wished it. I do not need a title or a special decree from the Church of England to watch over your son, My Lady. I did not need it for you girls nor for your father and Lady Rosamund."

"Exactly! You've known him almost all his life. Why is he being so obstinate?" Mary asked. "How can I possibly make peace with him?"

"By understanding him, My Lady."

"But I don't understand him."

Carson shook his head. How could he make her appreciate her father? "My Lady, I don't wish to cause you pain, but can you remember how you felt immediately after George was born? Before you knew about Mr. Crawley's accident?"

It was a bittersweet memory, but she did smile to recall it now. "Yes."

"You were so relieved that you'd produced an heir. You had made your contribution to the family dynasty and anything more you did for the rest of your life would just be icing on the cake."

"Yes, that's exactly how I felt." She looked up at him now, as though really seeing him for the first time. "But how did you know?"

"I've observed your family for most of my life. I may not talk very much, but I'm not an imbecile." His smile chided her slightly.

"No, of course not, Carson." She laughed at herself. "But what does that memory have to do with Papa?"

"That happiness you felt? That relief?" She nodded. "Your father has never had that."

She began to protest.

"Oh, he was proud when he married your mother; proud to do his duty for the family, but securing the next generation of the family eluded him. You don't remember your grandfather. He was a hard man to please. I only saw him smile once in all the years I served him. It was the day they received the telegram announcing your birth. I doubt he ever told your father how he really felt about him.

"And then, when your father tried to grow the family wealth, he lost the money in that railway scheme. It only reinforced that he was what his father always made him feel; a failure.

"He takes risks and looks for the easy money because he wants to be able to point to something that he contributed to the estate; something that isn't your mother's money. Unfortunately, desperate optimists make poor investors.

"I believe the closest he came to that true happiness was the day you married Mr. Crawley. And I am sure his feelings about Master George are very like your own."

"Goodness, Carson, you should pursue a career in psychotherapy." Mary was far from convinced, though she had never properly considered her father's position. He was always talking about being a custodian, a place holder. That cannot be a role that makes one feel very valued as an individual. She herself had been treated as little more than a broodmare, but she'd at least been a successful one. "Even if all that is true, does it make his treatment of you excusable?"

"No. But it explains his fear of you and his inability to tell you exactly what you need to hear from him. Leave that other business to me and your father. You have your own worries. Besides, if you and your father are back on good terms, it helps me. It helps everyone. When the two of you are at loggerheads, it throws Downton into turmoil. I'm not sure it's even possible for him and me to repair our breach if the two of you are still at odds."

"Goodness, Carson. Is that a selfish motivation I hear?" She teased him.

It was good to hear the old spark in her voice. "Yes, My Lady. I believe it is."

"Well, you are terrible at being selfish. Somehow, the thing that benefits you also benefits everyone else."

"I will try to be more selfish in future. But will you try to be kinder to your father, My Lady?"

"For you, I will." Mary was beginning to appreciate what Carson was saying. "I've been absolutely horrible to him since you left. He'd be here today if I hadn't kept fanning the flames."

"Your father is a grown man who should not have to be handled with kid gloves. And there is so much blame to be handed around, we can all take our fill and there will still be some left over. It is best if we just avoid the naming of blame altogether."

"Thank you, Carson." She took his hand tenderly. "Now, I believe you have an appointment of some importance. I would not wish to risk Mrs. Hughes' wrath if I kept you too long." As they started to return to the main church, a murmur went through the crowd.

Was she here? Carson checked his watch. It was still ten minutes to noon. She was always so punctual, was it possible she was as anxious as he was?

Rounding the large flower display, Carson saw the source of the commotion. The last person he had expected to see today was standing just inside the church doors.

**TBC- Dun, dun, dun!**

* * *

**A/N Overall, I am not a huge Mary fan, but I love who she is with Carson. I hope we see some of that in series 4. I think it brings out the best in both actors.**


	25. Chapter 25

Robert Crawley, 5th Earl of Grantham observed the crowd coldly. This was his family's village. These were his tenants, his servants, his family, and they were looking at him as though he did not belong here. Rosamund had finally convinced him that he should be here, even if he was not prepared to apologize to Mr. Carson, his absence from this event would be an irrevocable insult. And so he was here. For Duty. For Downton.

He had handed off his hat and gloves to a vaguely familiar footman upon entering the church, but no one else would approach him or make eye contact with him. He scanned the crowd, looking for Cora. He saw Mary at the front of the church. She looked at him briefly before joining her mother and the rest of the Downton ladies five rows back on the bride's side.

_Five rows back? They should be in the second row, at least._ He was troubled by this obvious slight against his family. But he set these thoughts aside as Rosamund took his arm and led him down the aisle.

Robert saw that his mother was on the groom's side. She was in the prestigious second row along with several people he did not recognize. At least she had been properly respected. Carson would have seen to that.

Speaking of Carson, the man himself was leaning into the second row, talking to a middle aged man with a slight build. The man then turned and instructed the rest of the row to shift down two seats. _This must be the cousin_, Robert thought. The rest of the row consisted of two young girls and two tall women that he also did not recognize. They bumped down quickly and efficiently, leaving room for Robert and Rosamund beside the Dowager Countess.

Carson greeted them both as they reached their rightful place. Robert noted sourly that Carson's suit was crisper and newer than his own. Cora had sent his clothing to the Dowager House and he had changed there hastily just after their train arrived. Lady Violet's butler had dressed him, but Reynolds was almost eighty now and did not have the eye for detail that Mr. Bates did. Robert felt second rate beside his butler. This did not improve his mood.

Carson extended his hand to Robert, but seemed unsure of what to say. Rosamund spoke for them all, "Mr. Carson, I am sure Lady Grantham told you we were ill and would not be attending."

"She did mention that you would not be coming, My Lady." Carson chose his words carefully.

"But we both felt so much better last night, we resolved to be here. Did we not, Robert?"

Keeping up appearances, Robert took Carson's hand and smiled what he thought of as his 'official' smile. "Yes, it was quite a miraculous recovery. I am pleased we were able to attend, Mr. Carson." He replied, grandly.

Carson was not fooled by the official smile, but he played along admirably. "I am glad that you are both feeling so much better." It was a huge step just to have His Lordship here. Charles would not cause a scene. "It is such an unexpected honor to see you today, Lady Rosamund." He kissed her hand gallantly and seated her next to Lady Violet. "The day would not have felt complete without the two of you here." He told her honestly.

Witnessing the exchange, Violet could not help but feel ashamed of her son in that moment. Not for the first time, she wondered… _No, now is not the time for such thoughts_. She simply vowed to keep a close watch on Robert so that he could not have occasion to disturb Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' day.

Robert looked around at the crowd now that he was seated. People smiled at him now. They seemed to be more accepting of him after his exchange with Mr. Carson. This thought also did nothing to improve his mood. Cora caught his eye and gave him a warning look. _If you ruin this…_ He did not want to consider the consequences her glare implied. He would behave today, as long as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes played along.

CE—

The steeple clock had just begun to ring the noon hour when the people in the back rows of the church began to turn towards the doors. People were packed into every corner of the building. Children sat on their mother's laps, husbands stood against the wall next to the benches that held their families. The room was warm despite the winter weather outside.

Charles and Nathan stood up from their front row seats and stepped to their appointed places. Charles forced himself to breath normally, he had heard of grooms passing out at the altar and was determined he would not be one of their number, though now he felt he could sympathize. He focused on Mr. Travis' shoes. His conversation with Lady Mary returned to him and he thought absurdly about what vicars might wear under their vestments.

_That is hardly something a man about to marry the love of his life should be concerned with_, his inner voice reminded him. Charles heard the great doors open. He heard the shifting of the people as they stood in her honor. He heard sighs and murmurs and even a few gasps. He heard someone already weeping openly. He wondered if it was Tom.

Charles wanted to look up the aisle, he wanted to see her, but he was afraid he might die on the spot. Finally, he could stand it no more. He turned his head to look over his left shoulder. Thankfully, Nathan was on his right to steady him.

CE—

Elsie Hughes, daughter of Argyll, housekeeper of Downton, beloved of Charles Carson glided down the aisle on faerie wings. May and Beryl had proceeded her, but they had reached their row well before she started her journey. The aisle stretched out before her, a soft, carpeted, straight path to be followed to Him.

She had chosen to walk the aisle alone, as she had walked the path of her life; a path that had been anything but soft and straight. And she knew it would continue to have its bumps and twists, but as of today, she was no longer walking it alone. As she looked down the rows of people, she saw that Tom Branson was indeed crying. Charles knew that boy pretty well. She smiled at him kindly, though he probably could not see it through her veil.

She did not have to look up to know that Charles had not yet turned to her. When she did look up, she could tell by his posture that he was concentrating on not falling down. His broad back was rigid and his head was held high. Anyone else would have thought he stood solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, but she knew better.

Finally, he did turn. She saw Nathan place a hand on his elbow to keep him upright. That's when she knew. She knew all the clichés were true. She could not hear the music, she could not smell the flowers, she could not feel the carpet beneath her feet. All she could see was him. As she approached the front rows, she wrenched her gaze from his and forced herself to acknowledge the Crawley family and May and Beryl and Anna and John on the left hand side of the aisle. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

She turned to smile at Suzanne and Nathan and Fredrick and Emily and Brittany and Annette and her step faltered imperceptibly. Lord Grantham was here. The Earl stood dutifully beside Rosamund and Lady Violet, but he did not look happy.

_Well, to hell with him_, Elsie thought lightly and did not spare another second dwelling on this development. Judging by the look on Charles' face, he was not thinking about Robert Crawley either. Elsie exchanged smiles with Lady Violet before turning her attention finally and completely to Charles.

She now stood beside him. He seemed taller than usual. He had trimmed his beard and looked like royalty. She felt like a princess in a storybook, complete with tiara. Mr. Travis was saying something. She was not listening. She leaned towards Charles and whispered. "I've come for my kiss."

CE—

Though he could barely feel Nathan's hand on his arm, he was grateful for the support. For a brief second, his vision narrowed and he thought he would faint. _No. _The voice said._ Men of your size do not faint, Charles, they collapse in an ungodly heap. BREATHE!_

Her dress was the same ivory as the roses in the two large arrangements at the front of the church. The neckline was much lower than any dress she owned, barely covering her corset, but above the low neckline, she wore a tasteful, sheer ivory lace which connected the top of the dress with an intricate lace collar that hugged her neck. The sleeves were made of the same sheer material and ended in the more detailed lace at the delicate cuffs. The dress was perfectly tailored and accented her age defying figure. Charles was a bit disheartened by the sheer number of buttons that seemed to be involved; tiny buttons that were sure to require button hooks to unfasten. This dress was likely to take a very long time to remove.

She wore a tartan sash pinned to her right shoulder and draped across her back where one length was pinned, just visible, at her left hip with simple silver brooch. The shorter length hung behind her. Where the sash gathered at her right shoulder, she wore a sprig of white heather. There were small stripes of white and red in the pattern, but the main color was an almost violet indigo. Charles was not sure if it was the tartan of the Hughes clan or if they had chosen this particular tartan to accent her eyes and match the flowers.

The color also highlighted the necklace she wore. She was wearing a floral motif choker over the lace. The necklace was composed of tiny diamonds with three teardrops of sapphire. Many of the gasps amongst the guests were brought on by the sight of the Downton housekeeper wearing such an extravagant necklace. He could not be certain, but it looked like the tiara she wore under her veil was of the same motif and contained more precious jewels. He thought he had seen this design before, but was too overwhelmed by her to place it at the moment.

Her hair was loosely gathered behind the tiara. From the little he could see, though her hair was indeed pinned up, the curls were larger and softer than her usual style. He could not wait to lift that veil and touch that hair.

He saw her tear her eyes from him to acknowledge her family and friends gathered on her left. He had a moment of apprehension when he thought of how she might react to Lord Grantham's presence, but his fears were silenced as he saw her recognize and dismiss the Earl in one fleeting glance. He had to fight to keep his smile from growing even larger. _ That's my Elsie. _ She had such a pragmatic way of focusing on what mattered at any given moment. For her, Robert was not relevant at this time. Charles wondered absently if he was the only man who found pragmatism to be such an alluring quality in a woman.

She was only a few steps away now. Every few seconds still the voice in his head screamed, BREATHE! He struggled to obey.

She stood next to him now. His breathing calmed, his heart still raced, but he felt peaceful for the first time that day. "I've come for my kiss," he heard her say.

He had certainly set very high expectations for this kiss and not just in her eyes. All their friends who could remember last night had heard him wax poetic about a kiss. Did he dare kiss her as passionately as he wanted to in front of the entire village? He did not want to embarrass her, but he did not want to leave her in any doubt of his feelings. He would only have one chance at this kiss.

As he had drifted off into his booze softened sleep last night, he had played the possible scenarios in his mind. He had quickly dismissed the chaste peck on the cheek. If he tried to get away with such a weak display, she'd throttle him here in front of God and the entire congregation; and rightfully so.

The other end of the spectrum was out as well. He could hardly bend her over backwards over the altar itself, lustily grasping her bottom and pulling her to him. That was for later.

But where in between these extremes was the right mix of reverence and desire? Though he hated to leave anything to chance, especially something of this magnitude, he was going to have to play this one by ear.

All morning, Charles had prayed for time to speed up. Finally, it obliged him. For Charles, the ceremony itself passed in a haze of hymns and words. Now, the congregation was singing the hymn. He was asked a question. He answered, "I will." He heard Elsie answer the same. Then Anna was reading something familiar, "Love is patient, Love is kind…"

Now they were facing each other. Somehow, he managed to deliver the vows he'd been taught. There were a few twitters of laughter, but he ignored them. He heard the same words returned from her lips, but more than anything, he saw the vow in her eyes."…to love, cherish and obey till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth." On the 'obey' she squeezed his hand and tilted her head wickedly as if to say, 'I'll never disobey you so long as you never _order _me to do anything'. As if he would ever be such a fool.

And Travis was talking again. And Nathan pressed a ring into his hand; her ring which he had not wanted her to remove at all, but they had insisted. Now it was going back where it belonged. He was being told to repeat something, so he did, "With my body, I thee worship."

There were a few more giggles from the assembly. She smiled at him and whispered. "You already said that part." He was trying to focus, but the Kiss was looming larger with every word.

"And with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

She was placing a large ring upon his finger. It was platinum; Charles could tell by the weight of it. She had not let him see the ring before the ceremony. Travis was making them release their hands and turn to face the congregation. All he heard was "Man and Wife."

Then Travis gave him his wife's hand for the first time. "Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder." _Amen._

Now was the moment. The first kiss as man and wife was not always part of the traditional ceremony, but they had both insisted. "You may now kiss your bride." Charles had her veil lifted before Travis even began to speak. Both his hands lingered behind her shoulders briefly, along with the veil. He did caress one curl of her hair, but resisted doing anything more.

Faced now with her uncloaked beauty, he thought he would weep. He saw that there were tears in her eyes, a few of which had escaped. He brushed one lightly away with his thumb as he cupped his hand behind her jaw, just below her ear. Her hand was in his hair. They were alone in all the world.

He thought of the words from last night, tasting another's soul on their lips. But their souls were one now. He would be tasting his soul on her lips as she was tasting hers on his. He did weep now, though she was the only one who could see the tears. With an enormous smile, he leaned down to renew his vows to her; not the vows they had just spoken, but the silent promise he had made to her in the form of their first kiss. A pledge whispered to the lips rather than the ear. The only oath that truly mattered.

After an eternity, they parted, still smiling through their happy tears. The church was silent around them. Several people sniffled quietly and then someone started clapping. Thomas, Mrs. Patmore and Lady Mary would later fight for the honor of having been the first, but Mr. Travis could have told them the truth; it all started with the Dowager Countess.

Soon the whole congregation was standing and clapping. This was not how it was traditionally done, but no one seemed to care. After several minutes, Mr. Travis gamely ushered them through the remaining rights as quickly as possible, foregoing half the blessing and rushing through the dismissal in record time. Finally, he sent them back down the aisle together and breathed a sigh of relief.

As the organ blasted a processional hymn, Mr. and Mrs. Carson walked back up the aisle arm in arm, surrounded by and completely unaware of the joy of their friends and family.

* * *

**A/N- It almost ****_was_**** Tamara (with her twenty-year old Prussian lover who takes a fancy to Daisy), but that took things off in a very odd direction and does not fit ****_this _****story at ****_this_**** time. Maybe later…For today, I just want Elsie to be happy on her day. Don't we all? **

**Next few chapters...After the Wedding...AFTER after the wedding...More of AFTER after the wedding. T rating alert.**


	26. Chapter 26

"Whoever decided that there must be a large party between the vows and the wedding night was a sadist." He growled, but kept his voice low so none of the guests could hear.

"We've waited twenty five years, Mr. Carson. I don't think a few more hours will hurt." She patted his hand sympathetically. She was more than a little anxious herself, but she had always been better at hiding her emotions.

"I would not be so sure, Mrs. Carson." Charles smiled and tried to put aside his frustration in order to enjoy the event. A lot of work had obviously been done in his absence and it would be rude of him to sulk even though he currently viewed the party as little more than an unnecessary delay. Why couldn't they have the party in a few days? Why right now? But he knew that Elsie was enjoying herself and there was part of him that relished showing her off to the village.

Soon, he was observing the party with the detached eye of a man who had planned and executed many such occasions. He had to admit, this was a remarkable accomplishment considering they'd only had three weeks.

The wedding party was seated along one side of a long table set close to one wall of the room. They faced the largest room of the ground floor of the Dowager House, which was currently unrecognizable as a library. The bookshelves had been covered with fabric and filled with flowers to look like windows in a garden cottage. Charles was very impressed by the transformation. The French doors on the wall opposite the table opened onto the lawn where tents and braziers covered and warmed guests respectively.

Outside, a low stage held a string quartet softly playing baroque music in front of a temporary parquet dance floor. The weather was cool but dry and the tented area was comfortably warm. The extended room was packed with people milling about enjoying the buffet style meal. In addition to the wait staff moving through the crowd with glasses, there were several stations where wine was being served. Just beyond the tent, Mr. Samuels was serving beer from a raised cask.

The wedding party had small plates in front of them at the table. One end of the table had initially been occupied by the Crawley family, but was now taken over by the Downton staff. The Family had not eaten, but had stayed for the two main toasts before excusing themselves.

Charles was sorry that the family could not stay longer, but was glad that neither their presence nor their departure had caused any commotion. The class lines were not blurred today as they had been during the tea at Crawley House on Saturday. This was more structured and civilized, not unlike the Servant's Ball.

It was not customary to start the evening with the toasts, but it was understood that the Crawley family was still in mourning and could not stay long. Upon arriving, every guest was given a glass containing their choice of beverage and asked to gather in the main room. Most people opted for the champagne, which was a novelty for the working class guests.

The first toast of the evening belonged to Lord Grantham by right. After all the guests had finally arrived and everyone's glasses were filled, an uneasy shuffling began in the crowd. What would His Lordship say? No one knew exactly what was going on between the Lord and the butler, but it was generally understood in the village that there was tension.

As the crowd looked expectantly at Robert, it was Lady Violet who stood. "I have shouted down Lord Grantham and taken the honor of the family toast for myself because no one in this room has known Mr. Carson as long as I have. And with the exception of her sister, no one here has known Mrs. Carson_née_ Hughes as long as I, either.

"Mr. Carson, you have supported this family through the highs and lows of five decades. Many of you may not know that Charles is the third generation on his mother's side to work on the estate. I remember how excited Mr. Dickens was to welcome his grandson to Downton. Young Charles was destined for a great career in the stables.

"Unfortunately, within a week of his arrival, every horse in the stable was spooked. Apparently, young Mr. Carson had a habit of pulling the horses tails. He was also fond of the dogs and had a tendency of releasing the hounds from their kennels." Everyone laughed at the idea of a young Mr. Carson running around the estate bothering the horses and dogs. Charles nodded and smiled, admitting good naturedly to the crimes. He had forgotten why they brought him into the house.

"For the good of the horses, and to keep him from getting kicked in the head, Charles was brought to the house as a hall boy. As soon as he moved inside, he became quiet, observant and reverent. He was a precocious boy who needed structure to flourish.

"And if anyone understands structure, it is the new Mrs. Carson. Many years ago, I was put out that Lady Rosamund would dare steal Elsie Hughes away from Downton, but I was glad that my daughter would be in such kind and capable hands so far from home. Even so young, Mrs. Hughes was level headed.

"If she had been more of a gossip, we might never have torn her away from London, but, thankfully, Mrs. Hughes was immune to the draw of the city and returned to country life when an opportunity for advancement arose. After she returned to Downton, it was my honor to witness her maturation into the excellent housekeeper that she became.

"It must feel as though much of what you do for the estate goes unseen, but I have seen it and admired you for it for many years. Your care for the people around you goes beyond what is called for by your position. A steadier, more compassionate soul has yet to come into my acquaintance." Elsie smiled gratefully at the Dowager Countess. She was thinking of everything she and Violet and Isobel had done for Ethel.

"Individually, these are two remarkable people. How much greater must they be together? It is a matter of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Together they have been and shall be perfection in every sense of the word, professionally and personally.

"Those of us privileged enough to know them cannot help but rejoice at the holy union of two such souls." She turned and looked down the table to the embarrassed couple. Violet raised her glass "My family and I are honored by your years of service and wish you both all the blessings that life can offer as you move forward together. To Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carson."

The family stood, as did everyone seated at the main table. Glasses and voices were raised. "Mr. and Mrs. Carson!"

The flattered couple sat together and smiled gratefully to their friends. Though they were both uncomfortable receiving such compliments, they were duly proud for their spouse and endured the attentions.

Lady Violet sat back down, the rest of the table following her lead, except for Nathan, who remained standing next to Charles. After allowing an appropriate time for a few last tears to be wiped away Nathan began. "I cannot compete with the eloquence of the Dowager Countess, but, thankfully, it is not required for the best man to be eloquent, only funny. Considering all I know about Mr. Carson, this could be a lengthy toast indeed. But I promise to be brief.

"When Charles told me a few weeks ago that he was to marry Mrs. Hughes, my first reaction was, 'Whoa now, let's not go rushing things.' I mean, they've only known each other for twenty-five years!"

He waited for the laughter to die down a bit, but raised his voice to continue over the remaining noise, "But he always was impetuous. When we were young men, he decided to buy a winter coat for Christmas. By the time he decided which coat he wanted, it was June.

"I won't say that he's stuck in his ways, but Charles didn't intend to grow a beard. They started selling his usual shave cream in tins rather than tubes and he hasn't been able to adjust to the new packaging." Charles shook his head in denial, but it sounded plausible to many in the crowd.

"Elsie's sister and I only met two days ago, but we bonded instantly. Let me tell you, it is not easy growing up around individuals who are as fastidious and proper as our honored couple. Since this is really Elsie's day, I didn't want to leave her out. So I asked Mrs. McAvoy to help me with a few childhood memories.

"Once, apparently, Elsie was so preoccupied with finding the proper spoon for the sugar that she let a whole pot of porridge burn. After that she was only allowed to cook toast but she usually burned that as well.

"Apparently, Mrs. Carson once organized a garden tea party for her dolls but would not let one of the dolls attend because she did not have the proper hat." Charles turned to look at his blushing bride as she swatted May teasingly. He wanted to know more about the young Elsie Hughes. They would visit May at the first opportunity, he promised himself. She was bound to have many more stories.

But Nathan had returned to roasting Charles. "He tries to look nonplussed at everything, but if you ever want to push our good butler friend's buttons, there are two sure fired ways. Firstly, if you are walking somewhere with him, just take random turns off the main route. He'll follow you out of politeness, but will be come more and more agitated the further you get from the most efficient route. He's not one for the scenic route, our Charles.

"But the biggest sin in Charles Carson's world? Not letting a red wine breathe properly. I have had to stop him from interrupting people at their dinner in pubs.

"Not that he is bossy in any way. Though I've suspected that Charles Carson only settled for being a butler because the job of World Emperor wasn't available."

"The only thing about Charles Carson that is more annoying than the fact that he thinks he is always right…is that he usually is. I cannot tell you how infuriating that is Charles. Mrs. McAvoy assures me that her sister is exactly the same." May was nodding and laughing heartily. "Good luck, Downton because between the two of them, they will be completely insufferable as they may never be wrong again." People were now crying with laughter.

Nathan grew serious now and turned to look down at Charles. "We've had our fun at your expense today, Charles and we'll drink our fill at your expense tonight, but I must say that I have been the luckiest of men to count you as my friend for so many years. You can be a cranky, obnoxious, hard-headed, stubborn bastard, but you are also the humblest, most generous person that I know."

Turning back to the audience, Nathan continued. "Every letter and visit from Charles for the last twenty-five years has been full of Elsie Hughes. And, Maisie, tells me that in that time she grew almost sick of hearing about the wonderful Mr. Carson. But we endured hearing these praises because we love you both and knew that you'd found someone to share your life with. Even if you were too thick to see it.

"Hearing you gush about Elsie all these years and finally meeting her, I know that the two of you have always been meant for each other and not just because no one else would take you. The truth is, neither of you were capable of settling for anything less than your ideal and neither of you thought yourselves worthy of that person. I don't know what finally woke you up, but I am happy that your eyes were opened.

"Marriage is a partnership; an agreement to face all of life's trials and joys together. The two of you have been partners in so many ways for so many years. And now you are man and wife. While those of us who know you best feel this is long overdue, I trust that the destination will be all the sweeter for the long journey."

"To Mr. and Mrs. Carson." Glasses were raised around the room. "At last!" Nathan finished.

"At last!" Came the happy echo.

Someone began to tap their empty glass lightly. Others joined in. With ringing crystal and cheers of encouragement, the crowd prompted Charles to kiss his bride. He readily complied with their request.

CE—

After Nathan's toast, the food had been unveiled and the Crawley family had exited quietly. People dropped by the table sporadically to pay their respects to the Carsons over the next half hour.

Holding her husband's hand on the top of the table, Elsie played with his ring as they sat, listening to more kind sentiments. This small piece of metal told the world that this man was taken; the engraving inside told them by whom. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the ring as well wishers moved away.

He looked at her with some surprise, his eyebrows raised over smiling eyes. "The ring is beautiful, my love, but I did not need anything so fine." he told her.

"Need had nothing to do with it. But I cannot take all the credit. I had chosen a very sensible and lovely silver band to match my own ring, but Lady Mary, Lady Edith and Tom insisted on the platinum. Lady Mary said you had quite enough silver in your life."

Mr. Carson thought of all the silver he had polished in his lifetime. "She has a point."

Charles looked at her ring next to his as she reached across to hold his hand in both of hers. It sparked a thought. He'd seen that motif earlier today. He looked appraisingly at the jewels his wife was wearing. Besides the tiara and necklace, there were very delicate, glittering earrings that had quite escaped his notice in the church because then, as now, they failed to out sparkle her eyes.

Now that he truly looked at the necklace and tiara up close, the resemblance was unmistakable. The vines and flowers of her ring were mimicked in the tiara; three smaller wreaths looped to either side of a larger, central wreath that surrounded a large, multifaceted sapphire. It was undoubtedly the same motif, all delicately made.

"I never asked. Where did you get all this jewelry? Have you some rich admirer I should be worried about?"

Laughing at him, she answered. "They belong to the estate, but are being held by the Dowager Countess. She insisted on lending them to me after seeing my ring. She said they were part of the set that my ring came from."

"She recognized your ring? I thought they might be from the same artist but had no idea they were part of a set." In all the years he had possessed it, Charles had never thought to ask the Dowager Countess about his mother's ring.

"Apparently, it was part of a large gift to the first Earl, upon his investiture; from George III." His eyes grew large with disbelief.

Now she dropped her head a little, felling almost ashamed. "I am afraid that I felt obliged to offer to return the ring to the estate immediately. But Her Ladyship refused. She said that it was just a small item amongst a gift that was very grand. She insisted that it was a gift from her husband to your grandfather as a token of your family's combined sixty years of service. She would not hear of retracting such a gift.

"I didn't want to give the ring back, Charles." She rushed on. "I just felt that I had to offer." She hoped he would understand. "You aren't upset that I almost gave away your mother's ring, are you?"

"Of course not, you were right to offer. But it is not my mother's ring anymore. It belongs to you." He looked at the ring with fresh eyes. "This was the gift from a King to an Earl? I am just so happy I had something to give that is worthy of you."

She kissed his cheek now. "I am just so happy that it was a gift from a butler to a housekeeper."

* * *

**A/N- The reception is fighting me and keeps running in weird directions. I am still not 100% happy with the toasts, but there it is. I don't think Violet would talk that much in public, but I could not give Robert the floor. He is still being an ass.**

**I will try to wrestle the second half into submission ASAP, hopefully later today. For now, we can all share Mr. Carson's frustration at the delay of the wedding night. But those chapters are mostly written, so they should be out over the weekend.**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N Reception, Part 2- second update today.**

* * *

They were sharing their first dance, a waltz, out under the tent. Elsie rarely danced anymore. She took one turn around the floor with Lord Grantham at the Servant's Ball, once a year, but nothing more. When she was Lady Rosamund's Lady's Maid in London, she and the downstairs girls would scheme for weeks to get a few hours at the local dance hall. They usually just danced together, most of the men being too shy or too short for partners. But she'd always gone for the music and the exercise.

She was enjoying dancing with Charles very much, even before she suspected her feelings for him, she'd wanted to dance with him at the Servant's Ball. But she knew he would think it inappropriate. Now that she had such an impressive partner, Elsie planned to dance more.

He looked into her eyes as they moved easily together. "My love, you have no idea how beautiful you are."

"I've some idea." Hadn't people been telling her so all afternoon?

"No." He insisted, "You don't."

"Are we to have a fight at our own Wedding Breakfast? And about something so silly?" She smiled as that daft photographer from Lady Edith's paper blinded everyone with a flash. "Well it took three people to put me together today, so I'd better be looking my best."

"I don't mean just today. Though of course, you are particularly lovely today. I do love this style for your hair."

"It's not practical for day to day, but perhaps on our half days…" she left the sentence there, thinking now of a cottage where no one could bother them for twelve whole hours every other week. She very much hoped she wouldn't have to do _anything_ with her hair on her half days. "But you give me too much credit. I am as vain as anyone about my appearance."

"But if you truly had any idea how beautiful you are, you would not be settling for a stuffy old fool like me."

"I agree, you are a fool, but only because you don't realize how lucky I feel right now." She placed her cheek against his chest, knowing the waltz was almost over. "Didn't you hear Nathan? I am not settling at all. You are my ideal man."

"Your ideal man is a fool?" Charles teased her.

"Yes, but only when it comes to me." She felt, more than heard him chuckle.

The dance ended now and they stepped apart slightly. Dancers and spectators alike clapped politely. Elsie nodded at the band leader. The quartet was joined now by a piano player. This new group started into a more up tempo number.

"Just stick to a box step and follow my lead." Elsie told Charles, who had a wary look on his face.

Some new couples were drawn to the dance floor as the less adventurous couples conceded the space. Daisy and Ivy pulled Mr. Mason and Mrs. Patmore into the dancing. When Daisy could not get Mr. Mason to understand the steps, she passed him off to Mrs. Patmore and she and Ivy tried to teach the two older folks the steps by demonstration. By the end of the dance, Beryl and Mr. Mason still did not have the steps correct, but they didn't much care about that. They'd enjoyed improvising a dance of their own. Daisy and Ivy remained for the next dance, but Mr. Mason and Mrs. Patmore went off in search of some punch.

Despite the cold night surrounding them, the dance floor had become quite warm. Soon couples were stepping out into the uncovered portions of the garden for cool fresh air. It was actually a rather dreary winter afternoon, but the cloudy sky and muted light gave the illusion of a bright moonlit night.

CE—

"Must I do this?" Charles had been hoping to skip the garter portion of the afternoon. He did not like the notion of lifting up his wife's dress in front of everyone. He had not seen Elsie's legs above her ankle more than a handful of times in all the time he had known her and above her calf only twice. He still blushed at those memories.

"It is tradition." His bride reminded him.

"Well, it's an indecent tradition." He huffed.

"Shall I have Nathan remove it for you?" Suzanne offered as she ushered the couple to the space in front of the stage. Nathan had herded the bachelors to the left and the maids to the right in the front of the crowd.

"That will not be necessary." Charles snarled, defeated. He turned Elsie to face him, her back to the crowd as he bent down in front of her on one knee. There was a general, unhappy murmur from the gathered bachelors.

"That is not how it is done, Charles." Elsie refused to put her foot on his knee.

He was glowering now and his ears were turning pink around the edges. Elsie bent down to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, "It's only my leg, love. And try to smile a bit."

He did not resist when she stepped to the side and placed her foot up on his knee. Someone wolf whistled from the back. Charles' hands clenched. For a split second he felt that if he knew who had done that, he could have buried his fist in that person's face.

But one deep breath and one glance at Elsie, who was beginning to lose her patience, put him back on track. He smiled apologetically at her. She could not resist smiling genuinely back at him and rolling her eyes.

Right, it was time to get it over with and show these 'gentlemen' as little of his wife as possible. Charles looked up at the crowd and was surprised to see Tom on the bachelor's side of the floor. A quick glance to the other side of the floor told him that the younger Crawley family members had all snuck back into the party. They looked as though they'd been here for a while, dancing, for they were all flushed; even Lady Mary.

But he could not get distracted now. Charles turned back to the task at hand. Just before Charles began, he saw Alfred's goofy, smiling face.

"Alfred, James; turn around."

"But why us, Mr. Carson?" Jimmy grumbled.

"Because you work under Mrs. Carson and it would not be appropriate."

"Would it be more appropriate if Mrs. Carson worked under you?" Thomas whispered to Jimmy who reddened terribly and turned away to hide his laughter. Thankfully, neither Mr. or Mrs. Carson heard him. Alfred had already turned obediently.

Finally, Charles lifted up the hem of Elsie's wedding dress in tiny increments. It looked like he was trying to tease the men, but he was only trying to find the garter while showing as little of Elsie's leg as possible. He held the hem together behind her leg, _Her perfect, delicate leg_.

He found the garter just below her knee. He quickly dropped it down to her ankle along with the hem of the dress. Now that she was properly covered again Charles could relax and was able to better play his part. He gripped the back of her ankle just above the garter to support her as he raised her foot off of his knee. He slowly, seductively slid her shoe off of her foot. Then he drew off the garter even more slowly, letting his fingers tickle the soft arch of her foot. This time, his reaction to the wolf whistle was laughter. _Eat your heart out, fellow. _

After the garter was removed, he slid her shoe back on like Cinderella in a pantomime show. Charles stood, with only a slight creaking of his knees and faced the bachelors. Beryl brought Elsie her bouquet where she stood opposite the unmarried ladies. They turned their backs to the crowd, which began to press toward them.

Nathan's voice rose over the suddenly noisy group of people jockeying for position. "Marquess of Queensberry rules ladies! And no eye gouging or spitting! I hope you have all placed your bets." He led the crowd in a countdown. "Three…Two…One!"

Simultaneously, Charles threw the garter and Elsie threw the bouquet. The crowd rushed them so suddenly that Charles jumped up on the stage and drew Elsie up after him. They turned to watch the carnage. The chaos had not been helped by the fact that, in their zeal to reach the reluctant participants in the back, both Elsie and Charles had overthrown their targets. The garter had initially landed amongst the women and the bouquet had been tossed to the men. The two groups had clashed as they sought after their prize.

After things calmed down, the victors were pushed out of the crowd. Nathan dragged them both up on stage. The photographer snapped a shot of Rose holding the garter triumphantly on one finger while kissing the cheek of a very embarrassed Alfred, who was holding the bouquet as though it was a grenade about to explode.

"I had better not see that in the society section." Edith told the photographer as he changed his film. He shook his head but smiled sadly at the missed opportunity. It would have been a sight better than most of the photos in the society column. Edith read his mind. "Honestly, Rose would not mind, but Papa and Mr. Carson would go into fits. Surely you've other pictures from tonight that you can use?"

"I think I've gotten some excellent shots today, Lady Edith. I'll let you know as soon as I process them."

"Lovely. I'll come to London when they are ready and we can choose one for the paper. I'll write some copy for it. Then, I can take the other prints and pay you the rest of your fee. Mary and I would like to be able to make them an album for their first Christmas. I really do appreciate this Liam."

"Don't mention it." In his line of business, it never hurt to have an aristocrat owe you a favor. _Especially one as sweet as Lady Edith._

CE—

Elsie was crying and there was nothing Charles could do about it. He, Tom and Mary stood awkwardly by as Elsie and May said their goodbyes out in front of the Dowager House.

"We'll visit soon, May. I promise." She was near sobbing. "I am so glad you could be here."

Tom coughed uncomfortably. He looked once more like the chauffeur he had been, waiting patiently. "I am sorry ladies, but we should leave soon. It would not do to miss your bus."

The Hughes sisters broke apart reluctantly. As they stepped into the car, Mary was going to keep Tom company on the drive back from Harrogate. Elsie grabbed Mary's hand passionately. "Lady Mary, of all the wonderful things your family has done for us on this occasion, this is the gift I shall never be able to repay. Not if I live to be a hundred."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Carson." Mary assured her. And it truly had been.

Charles and Elsie stood on the drive of Dowager House for some time after the car was gone. Elsie wanted to compose herself somewhat before returning to the party. Charles simply held her to him and let her take her time. He was in no rush to take her back to the crowd where he had to share her.

The Carsons had left earlier to catch their train, followed shortly by the Heatons. All visitors from the world beyond Downton were now gone.

Elsie's breathing was almost normal now.

"You know, they might not even notice if we don't come back." Charles offered casually.

"If only I could believe that."

Just then, Anna stuck her head out the front door. "There you two are! A rumor started that you'd already left for Crawley House. You can't leave just yet. The staff wants to give you a proper send off." Her tone was almost apologetic. "Just a while longer." She promised.

CE—

The daylight was finally dimming and the firelight from the braziers basked everyone with soft and flattering light. Many guests had already gone home, but there still remained a fierce and determined group composed of the Downton staff and any townsfolk who didn't have children.

"Don't these people have to go home for dinner?" Charles was starting to become downright surly in his exasperation. "Why are they still here? Aren't we out of wine yet?"

"Almost. But the punch and the beer are all gone, so they'll all be leaving soon. I think we can leave them to finish the off last of the wine without us. And please remember that 'these people' are our friends. You've been very well behaved, Mr. Carson, so far. Don't give up now." She was flattered by his impatience. Truth be told, she had been ready to leave the party as soon as May left. "The band will be done soon. We should tell Anna that we are ready to leave."

The band finished their last song and John led the applause as Anna rounded up the staff. Charles and Elsie waited as their guests filed outside.

"Rose!" Anna called the girl outside. She'd been talking to the piano player. They had discovered a common acquaintance during one of the band's breaks and she was interested in continuing their discussion. Promising to be right back, Rose rushed out after Anna.

"So, do we wait until we are called for?" Charles wondered. He hated not knowing the plan.

"Patience, love."

A honking horn called them out the front door. Clutching each other, they ran out the door into a shower of rice.

Elsie spared a second to wonder if that rice had come from the Downton food budget, but forgot that when she saw how they had decorated the wagonnette. Keys and Spoons and shoehorns and corks had been tied together with colorful ribbons to form a long swag which had been secured along the top of the car. An old sheet had been painted with the words "Just Married" in black paint. But somenone had used red paint to cross through the 'Just' and added 'FINALLY'.

When they reached the shelter of the very backseat of the car they both turned and waved to their friends. Though he was glad it was over, Charles had to admit it had been a very enjoyable event. But he was more interested in this evening's program.

She read his mind and whispered to him, "Are you at all nervous, Mr. Carson? Because I don't mind saying that I am."

"Nervous does not even begin to describe it, Mrs. Carson." Still smiling at their cheering friends. Carson's anticipation was such that he barely thought to worry about leaving all these people unsupervised at the Dowager House. Surely someone was watching them, probably Thomas.

Ignoring the alarm bells in his head and the cacophony caused by the shoes, large cans and milk pails that had been tied to the back bumper, Charles focused on kissing Elsie as the car pulled down the drive. Lowell was driving and John, Anna and Beryl were in the seat behind him.

Charles did not stop kissing her until they reached Crawley house. Thankfully, it was only a short drive, or propriety might have forced the others to exit the car and abandon them by the side of the road.

* * *

**A/N Thank you for the lovely reviews and for loving these two as much as I do! At least I know that if they are driving me insane, I am not alone. This is so much cheaper than therapy.**

**Next Chapter…will contain some T-rated, adult content; suggestive, not explicit. **

**FYI, There are _at least_ 10 chapters left in this story, likely more. Half are already written and half are still stuck in my head. We have house guests for the next two weeks, so posting may be sporadic (nothing for a few days and then 3 in one day). I will try to have it average to a post per day. It is my intent to wrap things up before the ITV launch of the official series 4, but I've released a lot of plot bunnies and I need to hunt them down.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N- You've all been so good and I may not be able to post tomorrow and this had been written for weeks, so….Update number 3 (a short one! **

**Honeymoon- Part 1. Mild T Rating. -**

* * *

Charles kept looking at the door that led to the hallway that led to the stairs that led to his wife. What on earth was going on up there? He tried to focus on the whiskey he was drinking; it was another gift from Tom and was very fine compared to what Charles usually drank, on the rare occasion that he drank whiskey. With each sip, he would roll the amber liquid over his tongue, letting the fumes rise up his nostrils from the back of his throat. There were hints of caramel and toffee behind a fruity, spicy , he would swallow and feel the heat slide down his throat. These sensations distracted him somewhat, but paradoxically, they distracted him from thinking of Elsie by stimulated more thoughts of Elsie. It was a vicious circle. John was valiantly keeping up a one-sided conversation. Charles was trying to remember the advice that Fredrick, Nathan and John had given him during the stag night. "Take your time." "Trust your instincts." "Stay hydrated."

Mrs. Crawley had left a note for Charles reminding him that the only other souls in the house for the next three days would be the near deaf cook and her scullery maid. He and Mrs. Carson were to enjoy this little honeymoon quite undisturbed, he was assured. The last line of the note made him blush at her implication. "There are towels and robes in the bathroom. The boiler will be on, so no need to skimp on the hot water."

Finally, Anna and Beryl came back downstairs. "We'll be leaving now." Anna said without preamble. The ladies fought to keep their smiles natural, but the grins on their faces were too mischievous by half. Not that Charles noticed. Before he could form words of thanks, the entire party was out the front door and he was quite alone. _No_, he thought, they_ were alone_.

He finished his whiskey quickly, not bothering to savor it, just letting it burn down to his stomach. He started up the stairs. Just the thought of what was waiting for him made him lightheaded. He forced his breathing to a normal pace. He could do nothing to control his heartbeat.

Charles had at first been put out that the women insisted on "preparing" Elsie for him. He had wanted to be the one to slowly undress her from her wedding gown, to draw out the process teasingly. Before the wedding, he had hopes of finding a way to thwart their plans; to magic her away from the reception before they could claim her. As soon as he saw her in the dress, however, he saw that they'd known better. First of all, she was so desirable that he was never going to be able to do anything slowly; not the first time, anyway. Secondly, there were about a thousand buttons and hooks that were too delicate for his fingers. The dress would be ruined if it was left to him to remove it from her. He knew she didn't want that, so he'd finally accepted the women's assistance.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped to still his breathing again. He looked down the corridor; it was short, but very like the attic corridor down which they'd both lived for over 20 years. But there was no locked door in the middle of this corridor. There was nothing keeping him from his Elsie now. She was waiting for him. He would not make her wait any more.

He knocked gently on the door of the largest guest room. Firelight glowed from under it.

"Are you decent, Mrs. Carson?"

CE—

It seemed like an eternity since Anna and Beryl left. Were the men having another round of drinks with the ladies? Were they discussing the wedding? Were they discussing the reception? Were they discussing _her_, up here waiting in the flimsy French negligée Lady Mary had given her? She could not resist a look in the mirror after the women had left her. She noticed how the dusty rose color of the silk mimicked the slight blush of her cheeks. She noticed how sheer the fabric was. She thought of Charles seeing her like this and she blushed more deeply. Elsie stilled her nervous breathing and took a drink from one of the bedside water glasses. One of Anna's bits of advice to her, "Make sure you both drink plenty of water."

She was on the bed now. Was this a good place to wait for him, she wondered? Should she be standing by the door? Should she be standing by the bed? Was it proper for her to be waiting for him _on_ the bed? Was the negligée too revealing? Was it too much, too soon? Maybe she should be wearing the ivory robe that accompanied the slip. The girls insisted that she not wear it. But she was getting cold now. Or was she warm? She could not tell. Her face felt warm but her hands were cold. She was starting to panic a little. _What is taking him so long?_

She was just about to jump up and grab the robe from the back of the door when she heard his knock. It was the same knock that she had heard a thousand times. It had stirred complex emotions every one of those thousand times. How her heart grew whenever he leaned in her sitting room doorway. Sometimes he was wishing her good night. Sometimes he was bringing her tea. Sometimes he was updating her on the place settings. Sometimes he was coming to check on her after a hard day. Sometimes he was coming to apologize. Tonight he was coming to…

"Are you decent, Mrs. Carson?" his voice sounded tentative.

She was definitely warm now. "Far from it, Mr. Carson. Please, come in."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He leaned into the room as he pushed the door in front of him. Framed there as she always pictured him, but looking so very different tonight.

He had tried to prepare himself for this moment. He had imagined being with her like this so often over the years, often against his will, that he thought nothing could live up to the fantasy that he'd built up. He had seen plenty of flesh during his time on the stage, but those women were common, aggressive and available to the highest bidder. His Elsie was not like those women. Though in some ways, he knew she must be.

Upon entering the room, Charles Carson realized that he was a man of feeble imagination. His fantasies fell so far short of the reality that now faced him. The firelight made the sheer silk slip she wore almost invisible. Without a corset or a robe to hide them, he saw that her feminine curves were softer and rounder than he ever dreamed.

He'd held her in his lap so often lately that he thought he knew her body. Now he saw he knew as much about it as a child knew about a Christmas gift that was wrapped in a beautiful and intricately decorated box. The wrapping only teased at the toy it contained no matter what angle you examined it from and no matter how much you shook it.

She had her hands clasped demurely in front of her which had the effect of accenting her breasts, though he was sure it was not intentional. She was kneeling on the edge of the bed. It made her taller. Their faces would be almost level when he reached her; if he could reach her. His feet were stuck to the ground. His hand would not release the door handle. His body was so busy reassigning blood flow that his mind simply stopped working.

He felt the heat rushing through his limbs and flushing his skin. It was a strange sensation to let it wash over him unhindered. All the years of suppression and denial were over; if he could only manage to put one foot in front of the other.

And her hair was down. Lord, he'd never imagined how young she could look with her hair down. He had seen teases of tendrils fall loose on some occasions. But even when there was an emergency in the middle of the night, she took time to pin up her hair. Now he saw that there was more auburn color in her tresses than he'd realized. In the firelight, the grey looked like streaks of blonde. He could imagine her as a blushing bride of twenty. He could imagine himself as the young man who had been brave enough to win her. In this moment, they had a whole life ahead of them. All those years he had wasted were forgotten. _Lord,_ he thought, _there has been some great cosmic mistake._ This woman could not be meant for him.

His eyes followed the flow of her hair to where a length of it curled teasingly at her bare collarbone. He saw the flush of pink on the skin of her face and neck and chest as she smiled at him encouragingly. Somehow, this broke the spell that bound his legs and he lurched forward ungracefully until he reached her.

His breathless voice sounded miles away. "Hello, wife." They were almost eye to eye. He still had not touched her.

"Hello, husband." Her smile was mesmerizing. "I thought you would never get here."

He brushed her hair back over her shoulder with his right hand, his thumb lightly caressing the hollow of her collarbone.

Rice rained to the floor from his collar and his coat pockets as she untied his cravat and pushed the coat off his shoulders. Finally, freed from these formal trappings, he wrapped his left arm around his wife possessively, caressing her face with his right which he buried in her hair. He smiled against her smile as he whispered. "I thought _we_ would never get here."

* * *

**A/N- Aaaaaand we will leave them here with their privacy. I will go more T rated in the next chapter, which should post by Monday at the latest, but it won't be too detailed. There are some lovely M rated stories on fanfic. net . I suggest you read some of them if you want a more vivid idea of what our lovely Carsons are up to. **

**I love to read the 'M' stuff, I just don't trust myself to write them within the spirit of this story. So, until HBO picks up the rights to the Downton Abbey Afterhours spinoff, I shall try to keep closer to the spirit of the show.**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N- Skirting very close to 'M', but tastefully, I hope. **

**Honeymoon- Part 2.**

* * *

_With my body, I thee worship._

Years of silent communication, of knowing each other's moods and of anticipating each other's needs served them both very well over the next three days. After the first, frantic, frenzied release of tension, during which he'd remained almost fully dressed, they settled into a pattern that was not unlike the meticulous way they ran a household. Of course, there was also passion and tenderness, but beneath those there remained the pattern; make love, recover, evaluate, plan, repeat. Each repetition brought some new improvement or innovation.

At some point during that first night she realized that he was mapping her body, testing each part of her and gauging her reactions. She'd never properly appreciated his attention to detail, she'd always been aware of it, just never _properly_ appreciated it.

Once he found something he knew she liked, he would improvise using all the tools at his disposal, finding what best pleased. He loved playing with sensations; fingers, lips, tongue, nails, teeth, cool sheets, hot breath; each having their own distinct qualities. When she thought of all the textures and of the places he had already mapped and the places he had yet to discover, she shivered to think of the endless permutations.

"Elsie, dear, are you cold?" She was wrapped in his arms under a great, fluffy duvet with the little fire burnt down to warm coals. Did he honestly believe that shiver had anything to do with temperature? But his concern was so earnest she laughed out loud.

"You tell me, dear." She challenged him, turning in his arms to face him.

CE—

It was during their first morning together that she suggested opening the gift from the girls. She had been told the box contained an illustrated erotic book, an assortment of lotions and oils and a number of unmentionable objects with little cards attached to them explaining their usage. The cards were color coded; pink 'for her' or blue 'for him' or white 'for both'. She had been instructed not to open it without Charles' knowledge as it was a gift for them both.

Charles was slightly insulted that she wanted to open the box already. "Why don't we keep that in reserve for when we run out of ideas of our own?" he suggested sullenly. "I've still got plenty of things I think we should try. Surely, you aren't bored already."

_Men and their egos._ "Bored? You can't honestly believe that. We haven't even been married for a full twenty-four hours, you daft, daft man."

"Well, what am I to think?" He pouted. He had always known that women were more complex than men, but he now knew this was amplified in the bedroom. There were only a small number of things that he needed from her, he was very easily satisfied and did not require variety. He didn't dislike it, but he certainly did not require it.

But she seemed to thrive on diversity. There seemed to be a thousand ways he could tease and please her, every time just slightly different. He would willingly admit he was still trying to figure things out, but he was not yet ready to cheat with books and implements. They had not rushed things getting to the marriage bed, why rush things _in_ the marriage bed? Why not explore each other the old fashioned way?

So she deferred opening the gift for the time being. The mere existence of "The Box" had challenged him to be more adventurous and she was far from disappointed. Later in the day she broached the subject again, very delicately. "I did not mean to insult you, love. We can leave the book and the…" _toys?_ "…other things for later, but I thought we might use the oils. I believe there is something for the bath…"

He definitely liked that suggestion. "May I wash your hair, love?"

"You may wash anything you like." She kissed the tip of his nose, lovingly.

He practically sprang out of the bed. "Right, I'll get the bath running. You choose whatever you like out of that confounded box." She laughed as the tail of his robe disappeared around the door.

Trying to ignore the carded items hidden mysteriously in tissue paper, Elsie did sneak a quick leaf through the book after removing several of the fragrant oils. She was glad to see that she already recognized many of the positions, but she did stop at one that looked like it would be much easier in the bathtub than in the bed. Now, she just had to convince him that she'd thought of it herself…

CE—

Midway through day two they put clean sheets on the bed again. The closet in their room had been well stocked with linens. He loved to watch her hands smooth and fold the crisp linens. They moved with a practiced grace. He was not quite so proficient with the sheets, but he was getting better. He roughly folded the old sheets and placed them in the hall for the maid.

Time was measured only by the occasional knock on the door followed by a single word defining the meal that waited; "Breakfast" or "Lunch" or "Tea" or "Dinner". Usually, he would play the gentleman and retrieve their sustenance, modestly wrapping a sheet or robe around himself just in case the scullery maid was lingering in the hallway.

Once, the only immediate piece of clothing had been her silk negligee. Seeing Charles attired in what amounted to a pink, silk loin cloth held at his hip by one hand, made Elsie laugh so hard she almost fell out of the bed. He pretended to be offended and as punishment sentenced her to wear his morning coat vest and tie, and _only_ his morning coat vest and tie, all during tea, _or was it lunch_? Needless to say, the meal was interrupted.

The Box had not been reopened. The book still remained closed, as far as Charles knew. He was a little suspicious after her suggestion in the bathtub, but that had taken them in a whole new direction and he was not about to invite a quarrel when he had no true complaint.

Each round of love making continued to build on the lessons learned from the previous round. This was a learning curve that was steep and they were enjoying climbing it together. Even the 'mistakes' were fun.

After one experiment that almost resulted in a broken chair, they lay exhausted on the floor, too tired to even pull a sheet off the bed to cover them. "I am not sure we should ever try that again, my love." She gasped.

"Only on special occasions," he concurred. "But only after we have our own furniture to abuse, I would hate to have to explain that to Mrs. Crawley." After a long pause, he ventured, "Maybe that book has a suggestion of how we might try that more safely in future."

"You don't mean?" She didn't want to rush him.

He hated to admit it, but his imagination was tapped out. The only other things he could think of would probably not have been possible even if he were a young man, which he decidedly was not. Charles was certainly willing to start again at the top of the repertoire, which he thought was pretty extensive, but who knew when they would have this much free time together without the specter of work the next day. Nor were they ever likely to have access to a bed of such prodigious proportions. "Let's open the silly box." He finally capitulated.

She smiled to herself, but she was still near breathless. "Right after I've recovered a bit, Charles. I really don't think I can move much, just now."

After a little while, they were able to climb back into the bed. She passed to box to him and filled a glass of water for herself. He removed the lid. He retrieved the book and placed in on the bed between them. Just before he placed the lid back on the box, he stopped.

"Elsie, did you look in this box when you were getting that oil yesterday?" He was holding a pink card gingerly between two fingers.

"As little as possible, but of course I did."

"And…?" What was attached to the card was still concealed in the tissue paper of the box.

"Maybe we should start with the book."

He read the card. "Who exactly gave you this box again?"

"It was from all the girls…but mainly Lady Cora and Mrs. Crawley."

_Well, Mrs. Crawley had been married to a doctor, so maybe that's where…_ Charles thought. He was not sure if the note was written in Lady Grantham's hand or in Mrs. Crawley's. Neither thought was very comfortable to him. Charles was not sure he could follow the instructions on that card without an illustration. Luckily, the card had referenced a page in the book. "Yes, maybe we _should_ start with the book."

CE—

On the dawning of the third day, she scratched his chin tenderly. "Goodbye, my sweet."

"Where are you going?" Charles asked her, startled out of his sleepy reverie by her words.

She kissed him tenderly, "Nowhere, my love, but we return to the real world tomorrow and we must shave your face today so I was saying goodbye to your lovely beard."

He laughed at her, but rolled over and tickled her neck with his scratchy face. It sparked memories of his beard scratching her elsewhere over the past several days. "We can keep it for a little longer." He reminded her. "Perhaps a farewell tour is in order?"

"Well, we had better start then, because I suspect it will take several attempts before we can successfully complete a shave. I anticipate becoming very distracted."

"Which is exactly what you want to hear from someone with a straight razor in their hand." He joked from behind her ear.

After spending the morning giving his beard a proper sendoff, Elsie set up the barber shop in the bathroom. Charles had brought a small vanity bench in from another room and placed it before the sink. None of the chairs reclined far enough for him to rest his head on the towel she had placed on the edge of the sink.

He sat there now, face covered with foam. It had taken them two attempts to get this far. Right now they were banking on exhaustion to get them through to the end without another interruption.

His hand stopped her just before she began, "I have an odd request, my love." He seemed almost afraid to ask while she held the razor over his chin.

"What is it, Charles?"

"Might I, on some occasions, still call you Mrs. Hughes?" She looked at him, puzzled. "It's just that it is a name so very dear to me. As proud as I am to call you Mrs. Carson, there have been times the last few days when I wished I could call you Mrs. Hughes."

She grinned at him. "It's a name I am quite fond of myself, as proud as I am to be Mrs. Carson." It seemed an odd time for him to make his odd request. "Should you like to call me Mrs. Hughes right now?"

He smiled wickedly, "You always could read my mind, Mrs. Hughes." Ignoring the razor, he reached up and pulled her down onto his lap.

She dropped the razor into the sink. "At this rate, you are going to have that beard forever, Mr. Carson." Not that she really minded.

CE—

"Goodness, was that three days already?" she pouted as her eyes fell on the elaborate dinner tray in the hallway. They were both wearing robes, and standing in the hallway as they returned from the bathroom two doors down. Charles still had his beard.

He'd arranged for the cook to send a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of roses with dinner on the last evening as a special treat and a signal.

"Yes, we shall have to modulate our volume from now on, my love. At least until we get our own place."

"But not yet," she reminded him, taking the champagne bottle from the tray as he carried it into the room to the dresser. She stood next to the bed and removed the foil from the bottle suggestively as he sat upon the bed, champagne flutes at the ready. With a wink and a twist, the champagne cork popped.

She poured the bubbling champagne into the flutes, spilling nary a drop. One bit of foam did escape down the neck of the bottle, but she lapped it up deftly. He laughed appreciatively at this and emptied his glass with one deep swig. Resisting the urge to throw the glass into the corner, he took the bottle from her as she sipped from her glass tantalizingly. After another pull from the bottle, he set his glass and the bottle aside, waiting for her. She was taking an excruciatingly long time to finish her portion of champagne. He filled the time by untying the stay of her robe and pushing the soft cotton back off her shoulders as she stood there before him.

"No, my love, not yet." He smiled. The robe fell to the floor. "Thank god."

CE—

She was awoken by him opening and slamming drawers. His face was covered with shaving foam.

"Where is it?" He demanded, very agitated, when he saw she was awake.

She decided to play dumb. She stretched and yawned, pretending she was still half asleep. "Where is what, dear?"

He stood in the middle of the room and looked at her as though she were the stupidest person in the world. He gestured to his face. "What do you think? The razor, woman. Where's the sodding razor?"

She did not like his tone nor did she like being cursed at. Her tone changed to match his. "You weren't planning on sneaking behind my back and shaving it yourself, were you, Charles?"

He recognized that she was not happy, and that caused him to calm somewhat. "It seemed like the only solution. We are expected back today. Now, please, will you give me the razor?"

"I've hidden it because I want you to keep the beard." She admitted.

At this information, he turned his back to her and began opening drawers again, muttering under his breath.

"I at least want to discuss it." She insisted. "Why can't you keep it? So many people commented on how nice it looked at the wedding. If you keep it neatly trimmed, what's the harm?"

"There is nothing to discuss, Elsie. It's not done. It's just not done!" He apparently thought that was all the explanation needed. He looked up from his search and saw that she was not convinced. "You cannot serve food with a beard. A butler simply does not have any facial hair. It is just the way things are."

"If that's the case, you should probably shave your eyebrows as well." She said petulantly.

His patience was wearing thin. "Please. Love. Just tell me."

"Maybe if we asked…"

He'd had enough. He slammed a drawer shut with unnecessary force. "Damn it, woman! Just tell me where the bloody razor is!" His voice was raised but he held his full temper back with great effort. His eyes begged her to understand him. "Today I am going to return as butler of Downton Abbey and I'm bloody well going to do it right! I'll not give him any opportunity to correct me. And I _sure as hell_ am not going to ask his permission for Any. Damn. Thing!"

She saw it all now and recognized his frustration. "I'm sorry, love." She realized that she had not asked about how things stood with Lord Grantham. "But he was at the wedding and the reception, I assumed…"

"Lady Rosamund dragged him there, probably guilted him into it. He barely said two words to me." Two words were all he was asking for. Charles was still pacing up and down one side of the room like a caged animal.

"You should have said."

"And let him ruin the last few days?"

His pain was palpable to her. It was her pain too. She could not ask him to feel this way just for her. "We don't have to go back, Charles." She offered.

He looked at her disbelievingly. "After everything the ladies and the staff have done for us?"

"They'll understand. They didn't do all that to lure you back. Charles, they did it because they love you."

He nodded, absently accepting her words. "And they love you. Because this is our home, Elsie. You said it yourself."

"But I remember what you said as well. A man should not be made to feel a fool in his own home." She reminded him.

"Even if he is one?" Charles was standing, looking into the little fire now. His voice was small. It was killing Elsie to see him like this.

"Especially if he is one, my dearest love." She was beside him. She reached out and touched his arm. He took her hand and turned to her, letting her comfort him.

"I can do this." He assured her. "Elsie, I _want_ to do this; for both of us. I know if I can just get through today, everything will be fine."

Wordlessly, she released his hand. She walked back to the bedside table and took the lid off 'The Box'.

He sniffed and laughed a bit, "Really, love, I'm sorry, but I am not…"

"Daft man," she smiled at him as she reached in and drew out the razor. "I figured it would be the last place you would look."

"You figured correctly, as usual." He was calmer now. He held out his hand for the razor.

"Please, love. Allow me. I promise I won't get distracted this time." She was not entirely true to her word, but two hours later, the beard was gone.

* * *

**A/N- Next Chapter…Back to Downton Abbey. What is Robert gonna do?**


	30. Chapter 30

While the Carsons were enjoying their honeymoon at Crawley House, Robert was simply trying to survive at the big house. The family had returned from the Wedding breakfast to a near empty home. There remained only a skeleton crew of Mr. Molesley, one hall boy and one kitchen maid.

A light tea was waiting for them in the library. During the repast, it became clear to Tom and the ladies that Robert had not apologized to Carson as they'd hoped. Edith, Rose, Isobel and Tom had assumed that things were properly settled between the lord and butler. Cora and Mary knew Robert too well to be optimistic. Violet and Rosamund had witnessed the actual exchange and knew the truth.

Edith was flabbergasted. "But I don't understand. He shook your hand."

"As though Carson was going to make a fuss right before his wedding." Cora chided her. Cora had wanted to believe the matter resolved based on the same handshake, but had read the truth Robert's face when she could finally see it as he'd left the church.

"Robert, I am arranging their living arrangements and I promised a month long honeymoon while we are in London, but I don't know if that will be enough if you won't just apologize."

"For what?" Robert wondered what Carson or Mrs. Carson had told her.

"Only the two of you truly know the initial cause, but I think now, it would be a good start to ask forgiveness for being such a colossal ass the last few weeks. Thankfully, they were too busy to notice how unpleasant you were at the Wedding Breakfast."

"Well, I was not there voluntarily." He reminded her. He gave Rosamund an accusatory glare.

"Because you were being an ass." Rosamund shot back.

Everyone knew that ganging up on Robert would not be productive and proceeded to ignore him. Edith and Rose were both just so incredulous that they retreated to a corner to further discuss this development.

Mary remained silent. She had promised Carson that she would try to be kinder to her father. He was not making it very easy.

Finally, Robert had enough of being politely disregarded and excused himself to change out of his formal wear.

Bates had laid out his change of clothes before leaving for the wedding. The hall boy, Trevor, was waiting to help His Lordship change. He was obviously terrified to be in such close proximity to Lord Grantham, who could not remember the boy's name. There were beads of sweat on Trevor's forehead and he kept swallowing nervously. This was much more responsibility than he was used to. The boy could not be more than thirteen and Robert wanted to set him at ease. After all, a valet's mood often transferred to his gentleman; and vice versa. "Just help me off with the coat. Thank you. You are excused, young man. I can handle the rest myself."

Robert smiled as the boy practically bolted out the door. On some level, Robert had to admit he agreed with Matthew; it was odd for a grown man to require the assistance of another man to dress properly. Of course, the valet's maintenance of the clothes was the true skill, but somehow the dressing was still a major part of the job.

Robert sat on the little bed to remove his shoes. Vacantly, Robert remembered when he had been a nervous young man. He had been uncomfortable at the thought of being dressed and undressed by another man. Even in front of a servant, he had been afraid that he would do something wrong to embarrass himself and the family. But Carson had been there for him even in those early years.

Charles had become second footman at Downton when Robert was nine, though it was said he had been at Downton before that. Though Charles was at least thirteen years older than Robert, they'd formed an unlikely sort of friendship. Growing up on a great estate, with only a sister, Robert craved any male interaction. His father was often gone. None of the families of their acquaintance had sons near his age. The hall boys who were his age were dull creatures with little imagination and lots of work to do. He enjoyed riding, but found the conversations with the stable boys to be too horse centric. Robert needed someone he could talk to who would take him seriously. He had found Charles.

Footmen were too busy to have actual conversations and Charles seemed twice as busy as everyone else, but he never dismissed Robert outright. Robert would follow him from room to room as he stocked the wood or would corner him as he polished the upstairs silver. Robert would tell Charles about something he had just read or would simply ask random questions.

When Robert tried this with any of the other staff, they would extricate themselves from the young master as politely as possible. But, no matter how strange the topic or the question, he never once made Robert feel like a nuisance. Charles always listened as he worked and gave thoughtful answers.

"I've never truly considered it, Master Robert. But I suppose David _would_ be able to bowl out Goliath. Assuming he was allowed to use his sling."

His patience was boundless, his knowledge was surprising and his tone was deferential. Charles had even reassured Robert the day before he left for Eton. Robert was standing in the hall outside the library, waiting to be presented to his parents in his new school uniform.

Charles had come out of the room, carrying the remnants of tea service. The footman had nodded his curt acknowledgement of the young master and was headed for the door to the servant's stairs when he stopped and turned crisply. He must have seen the terror in Robert's young eyes. "If I may be so bold, sir. I know you shall do the family proud at school, Master Robert."

"Are you quite sure, Charles?"

The older young man smiled down at the younger, imbuing him with confidence. "I've absolutely no doubt."

Robert had never been so grateful for a kind word in his life.

"I've a gift for you." His father had said when, at age 13, he returned home from school during his first term break. "You are a young man now. There will be no more governesses. You are expected to be a gentleman in every way. Charles?"

"Yes, My Lord?" The footman stepped out from the line of servants that had assembled to welcome him home.

"You will be Mr. Robert's valet when he is in Yorkshire."

"Yes, My Lord." Charles nodded briskly to Robert and stepped back into line. Robert remembered feeling suddenly self-conscious. Firstly, it seemed odd to consider a person a gift. But mostly, there was the fear of embarrassment.

In his first few months at school, Robert had experienced harassment at the hands of the older boys. He had not been the recipient of the worst hazing, but he'd had his share. The result was a reluctance to undress in front of anyone, even Charles, a friend whom he trusted.

That first night, Robert had gone to his room at the changing gong and found Charles laying out his dinner clothes. Awkwardly, Robert stood there, wondering what to do next. Having a valet was a rite of passage in his set. When he returned to Eton, he could say things like, 'my man servant' or 'my valet', which would go a long way towards impressing the right people. But this felt strange to him. He was quite capable of dressing himself. None of the governesses had dressed him since he was eight.

Charles proved once again that he was sensitive to Robert's adolescent fears. "Master Robert, I am afraid that I took your shoes downstairs for a proper shine and I have left them there. If you could begin your preparations without me, I will go retrieve them."

"Very well, Charles." The relief in his voice was evident.

By the time Charles returned, Robert was almost fully dressed. Besides the shoes, he had left only the waistcoat, which needed some adjustment that Robert could not figure out, his top coat and his tie. After that day, they fell into a routine. At each changing, Robert would find his clothes laid out for him and Charles would show up twenty minutes later to put the finishing touches on the young master's attire. During this time, they would talk about how Robert was getting on at school or how things were going at Downton in his absence. Robert felt more at ease with Charles than with his family.

"And how are things at Downton, Charles? How is Mama? Tell me honestly."

"Your father is not traveling very much lately. Lady Rosamund is very excited about her debutant season. Your mother very much looks forward to your letters. You might consider writing home more, sir. If the time presents itself."

Without being overly personal, Charles had told him that his parents were getting along well, Rosamund was being a pain and he was being neglectful in his correspondence.

That break and each break during his time at Eton, Charles was his confidant and adviser. Charles was not a very good gossip, but Robert could get that from Rosamund. Instead, Charles offered honest, no nonsense appraisals which Robert came to value.

Gradually, Robert became comfortable dressing in Charles' presence. The valet found ways to give the young master his privacy, even without leaving the room; taking extra care when hanging the discarded clothes in the wardrobe or paying especial attention to a scuff on a shoe. By the time he left Eton and went to London, Robert didn't even bat an eye at the process, which had become as natural as being served at dinner.

This brought Robert's thoughts to that London season. Cora had told him that Charles was one of the main reasons she had given him a chance to woo her. He had never told her how instrumental Charles had been in encouraging him to do so.

Carson had spoken to Cora's maid, Miss Brown, and had learned that her mistress was as kindhearted and gentle as she appeared. After receiving this intelligence, Carson had gently recommended that Robert focus his efforts on Miss Levinson. "But if you find you could not love her, sir, remember you are still a young man and there is always next season."

And after all those years of relying on Carson's advice and guidance, Robert had accused him of being overly familiar? Robert finally allowed himself to feel the shame he deserved to feel.

Robert knew the accusation of an affair with Cora was so ridiculous that neither of the men took it seriously; that apology would be relatively simple. It was the insult to Carson's years of service that had been the harshest blow. How do you unsay something so cruel? How do you heal a fatal cut? And then there was his recent behavior. A simple apology would not suffice. Robert wondered if perhaps it was too late for an apology at all.

Cora found Robert sitting in his little room hours later. He was still in his suit pants and shirt. "There's no need to change for dinner, Robert. We are dining very simply. It's only stew and a cheese board tonight. Most of the servants are back now, but I am afraid they are much the worse for wear." She smiled, hoping Robert's mood was better than it had been earlier.

He acknowledged her absently. His mood was no better, but it was quite altered.

CE—

Robert's quiet demeanor at dinner was interpreted as a prolongation of his earlier sulk. This did not endear him to any of the family, who continued to give him the cold shoulder. Tonight, he did not notice. He was deep in his thoughts, pondering his course of action upon the Carsons' return. Was it even possible to return things to how they had been?

Robert had never been one to reach conclusions quickly. His pensiveness continued over the next few days. Through his preoccupation, Robert was vaguely aware that Mary was stalking him, trying to get him alone. He feared she wanted to scold him about his treatment of Carson. He did not think he could take it; not just now. He knew his pride well enough to recognize that a confrontation with Mary might drive him back into his earlier, obstinate stance. It needed to be clear that Robert had made this decision on his own. If it looked like he'd been forced by his family, the apology would not seem sincere. So Robert turned the tables on Mary; avoiding her now, as she had been hiding from him for the past several weeks.

Mary was frustrated with her father. It was essential that she rectify things before the Carsons returned. How was she supposed to reconcile with him if he kept running away?

**TBC-**


	31. Chapter 31

Mr. and Mrs. Carson had dressed and left Crawley House after breakfast. They had left a thank you note and tip for the maid and cook whom they had never actually seen in the whole three days. Charles was not sure he'd ever be able to look either of them in the eyes if they met. Linked arm in arm, they looked like any other respectable older couple with the possible exception of the grins they were unable to remove from their faces. They each carried their small personal luggage.

They called at the Dowager House for Mrs. Crawley. They correctly assumed that Mrs. Crawley was not going to risk interrupting them by returning before she received the all clear. Violet and Isobel were in the drawing room looking through a stack of newspapers. As Elsie and Charles were ushered into the room, they were met by the strong smell of newsprint. Charles was horrified by the sight of their ink stained hands. He immediately sent the young housemaid to fetch a basin of water, soap and towels.

"Don't make such a fuss, Carson. It's not as though we'll stain our clothing, we are already wearing black." The Dowager Countess pointed out.

Elsie shook her head at Charles. This was not the time to explain that black ink can be transferred from a black dress to lighter fabrics. They would learn soon enough. Instead, Elsie asked, "Do you require any assistance, My Lady?"

"We could use your help organizing these ads," Isobel said, handing Elsie a stack of advertisements cut and torn from the papers and magazines.

"And what is it exactly I am trying to accomplish?"

"We are trying to find a Christmas gift and a hobby for Lord Grantham." Lady Violet said without looking up from the tabloid she was perusing. Something caught her eye and she ripped the whole page out noisily. "Anything that looks like it could occupy his time would be good, though not too expensive or dangerous." She looked up at this and handed a disemboweled copy of 'The Lady' to Mr. Carson for disposal. She had a smudge of ink on her chin. Elsie practically stomped on Charles' foot to stop him from crying out in dismay and washing her face himself, probably with his handkerchief and water from one of the flower arrangements.

"Have you found anything promising yet?" Mrs. Carson asked Mrs. Crawley, trying to cover Charles' reaction.

"Not yet. Yachts are both expensive _and _dangerous, as are planes. There is not much local horseracing…"

The Dowager took over the list of things they'd already dismissed. "It's too late to start a breeding program for dogs; Robert will lose interest before the first litter is born. Motorcycles are right out.

"Though Cousin Isobel and I disagree, I believe that charitable work should be left for ladies. If men get involved, they are sure to make a mess of it." A look passed between the two women that told the Carson's that this had not been a terribly civil disagreement.

"I am afraid we may have to suggest something like painting or stamps or even…" Lady Violet simply looked at Elsie and rolled her eyes towards Isobel.

Elsie shook her head, "Surely not. You can't give up hope."

"Of course not, but this is not an easy task." Lady Violet lamented.

Charles looked between the three women, confused. Isobel shook her head and explained to him, "They both seem to think gardening is the earthly equivalent to hell."

"Not hell;" Lady Violet corrected her, "Purgatory."

Carson raised his eyebrows and tried not to show how much he agreed with this assessment. Mrs. Crawley had been very generous to him and Elsie even though she was still in mourning. He did not want her to feel that she was completely outnumbered.

Charles had given a good deal of thought to Robert's potential hobby after Elsie's letter explaining the plan. He'd agreed with their assessment, but had come up empty handed. When he had been idle in Hull, Charles had considered what kind of hobby he himself might enjoy. He was sure most people would find it deathly dull, but perhaps it would spark an idea.

"I think it would be interesting for someone to gather the deeds and building plans from the great houses that are being demolished all around the country." He was met with silent, skeptical looks. He pushed on with his idea, becoming almost animated. "It is practically an epidemic. All of that architecture and history is being lost. Even if the houses can't remain, someone should be preserving the records for future generations."

"That sounds a bit dry for Robert's taste." Isobel ventured diplomatically.

"That sounds a bit dry for anyone, Mr. Carson." Elsie teased him, knowing full well he had just described his ideal hobby.

"He's bored, Carson, not brain dead." Lady Violet was showing her frustration now. "I mean, we might as well have him start a Jacobite Revolution Reenactment Society."

"Then I am quite at a loss, My Lady." Carson was very sorry to fail her. "Perhaps you should talk to Mr. Branson. There may be a specific project on the estate he could hand completely over to His Lordship."

"Perhaps, but the estate is too important and it is running well at the moment, I wouldn't want to burden Tom. It is no matter, Carson. We shall persevere." The Dowager Countess assured him. In fact, his absurd suggestion _had_ tickled something in the back of her mind. If she could only remember what it was.

Elsie wiped her hands and turned to the basin of water that had been brought. "There's the ads sorted, Mrs. Crawley. I tried to divide them into Not Interesting, Mildly Interesting and Interesting, but I am afraid I've ended up with…" Drying her hands, Elsie pointed at the three piles now as she named them, "Hell, Purgatory and Brain dead."

Isobel laughed, "I think I'll start with Purgatory." She picked up that pile and began reading. "You mustn't let us keep the two of you. I think you are expected back at Downton by lunch."

"Then we should be going." Elsie said. "We just wanted to thank you both again for your generosity." Charles nodded his agreement.

"It was my pleasure, Elsie." Isobel made to grab her by the hand, but noticed that they were covered in ink and stopped short. Elsie noticed the gesture and placed her hand on Isobel's arm in thanks.

"Many happy returns, Mr. and Mrs. Carson." Lady Violet stood as they made to leave. Elsie had to practically drag Charles out of the room; he had spotted another smudge of ink on the Dowager Countess' face.

CE—

The servant's table was covered with a veritable feast. Mr. Carson gave an arch look to Mrs. Patmore. He wondered how this had impacted the week's budget. "Now stop your glaring, Mr. Carson. We've been eating gruel and gristle this whole week to pay for this and you'll let us enjoy it."

Even Charles had to smile at that. He knew she'd been feeding the staff as well as always, but he'd been fairly warned not to argue the point with her. He bade everyone to sit. He and Elsie remained standing at the head of the table.

"There is no denying this has been an eventful run of weeks. Mrs. Carson and I are humbled by the many expressions of devotion and friendship we have received. I believe we were able to speak to most of you on Monday, but we wanted to reiterate how grateful we are and how blessed we feel." Some of the staff shifted uncomfortably. To most of them, hearing such an effusive speech from Mr. Carson was the equivalent of watching him weep openly.

Now Elsie spoke up, her arm linked in Mr. Carson's. "And we are so very proud of each and every one of you for your professionalism and dedication. Now, let's eat this lovely meal before those bells start to ring."

Soon, the happy noise in the servant's hall was so loud it would have drowned out any bell. But Carson did not admonish them or even cast a single warning look. He was too happy to be back. He had missed the noise and the chaos. He had missed them all terribly. Charles found that it was difficult to swallow with a lump in your throat, so he merely pushed his food around on the plate and made a show of eating. Only Mrs. Carson noticed.

CE—

After the meal, Mr. Carson quietly snared Thomas as he walked past the butler's pantry. "Mr. Barrow, I crave a moment of your time."

Unable to think of an excuse to be somewhere else, Thomas bowed his head and entered the pantry.

"Please close the door and take a seat." Mr. Carson's words were icy as he rounded the desk and took his own chair. Thomas nodded and did as he was bid. He had expected a dressing down, and yet he was not prepared. _Best get it out of the way_, he comforted himself.

"Mr. Barrow, the reports I've heard of your brief time as butler have upset me greatly. The adjective most often used…" _If you ignored the profanities_. "…was tyrannical." Mr. Carson said the word slowly, as though he were trying to remember what it meant. His fingers were steepled in front of him, in his habitual gesture of contemplation. Thomas hung his head like a condemned man waiting for the ax to fall.

"I am afraid I owe you an apology, Mr. Barrow." Thomas' head whipped up at this unexpected turn of events. "I allowed my personal dislike and prejudice against you to affect your training. The quality of service in this house suffered as a result. I am ashamed that you were so inadequately prepared for your new responsibilities and I freely own my portion of the blame."

Thomas was speechless.

"The solution to this problem requires that you are able to shoulder your share of the fault as well, Mr. Barrow. Do you feel you can do that?"

Unsure of what was really happening, Thomas stammered, "I… I believe I can, Mr. Carson."

Charles considered the young man carefully. Thomas held his gaze without flinching. "Very well, Mr. Barrow, your improvement starts immediately. Tomorrow morning I will be teaching you some of the bookkeeping details and some secrets for an organized schedule."

Thomas nodded enthusiastically.

"But first," here Mr. Carson held up his hand. "There are some fundamentals that you must understand."

"Should I be taking notes?" Thomas asked without a single hint of irony.

Charles smirked at the question. "No, Mr. Barrow. I think you can remember this part.

"The most important thing you must remember is that you have advanced this far in your career _despite _your plotting, not because of it. You are an ambitious, intelligent man who is not afraid of your share of hard work. Your little intrigues are like an albatross around your neck, holding you back from greatness in your profession."

Thomas was not convinced this was so, but he held his tongue.

"Even if you don't believe me, you are best off putting your conniving past behind you. When you reach head butler, there is no one above you to replace; unless you are planning to overthrow the government and claim the Earldom for yourself." Charles was only half joking.

"As butler you are responsible for everything that happens in this house. Your reputation is dependent on the competency of the people you oversee. If there is a problem with the fires, Her Ladyship does not ring for Ivy; she rings for Mrs. Carson or myself. If Alfred burns a hole in the paper or James scratches the silver that is my responsibility.

"Have you ever seen a troupe of acrobats form a human pyramid?"

_What an odd question. Is this some sort of trick? _Warily, Thomas nodded.

"You should picture the household as a human pyramid. The butler is at the top, supported by the rest of the staff. An intelligent person would not attack the people supporting him. He would encourage them and find ways to strengthen them in order to stabilize his place at the top.

"The reason your brief reign as butler was…" Mr. Carson searched for a diplomatic phrase.

"A miserable, sodding failure?" Thomas offered.

"Well, I would not have put it like that. But, yes. The reason it was such a failure is that you were so focused on being in charge that you neglected to support the people who support you. You need to gain their respect and give them your respect in return."

_Easier said than done._ Thomas thought sarcastically, but what he said was, "But how do I gain their respect?"

"You must lead by example. You gain their respect by out working everyone in the house. By being the first one awake every morning and the last one to sleep every night. By holding them to high, but attainable, standards and holding yourself to even higher standards. By setting aside some time to listen.

"Butler is a paradoxical position. You must be humble in order to be great; selfless to serve your own interests; flexible to maintain structure; soft-spoken to be heard…"

"Cruel to be kind." Thomas offered, a hint of sarcasm seeping into his voice.

"You jest, Mr. Barrow, but yes; discipline is a delicate business. If you are too lenient, the staff will become complacent. If you are too harsh, they will become rebellious. As I think you found.

"The most important part of discipline is to be consistent and fair. People must be allowed to learn what is acceptable.

"My understanding of your style of discipline was that it was petty and vindictive. According to my sources, you changed the rules and belittled everyone, even when they were doing exemplary work. If you keep changing the rules, there might as well be no rules. You could not have truly expected that to be effective."

"No, I suppose not. I just thought…" but Thomas could not put his feelings into words.

"You thought you'd earned the right to boss everyone around and you were damn well going to use it." Mr. Carson offered.

"Yes, I suppose so." He'd never considered that Mr. Carson could understand his ambition.

Mr. Carson nodded somewhat sadly. But he seemed to be done with his lecture. "Was there anything you wanted to ask me about your experiment as butler?"

"There was, Mr. Carson." Thomas was embarrassed, but something had really bothered him and there was no one else to ask. "Is there a way to stop the use of… That is, the staff might have made up a sort of nickname for me."

"Little Sergeant Barrow? Yes, I heard. That was quite a good one." Charles chuckled lightly. "I wonder who thought of that."

"I think Mrs. Patmore thought of it, but James popularized it." Thomas pouted.

Mr. Carson realized that it had truly hurt Thomas to be mocked by the staff and particularly James. He thought he might be able to make him feel better. "You're lucky. It's much better than any of the nicknames I've had, but then Mrs. Patmore wasn't around to coin anything so clever."

"You don't have a nickname. You're simply Mr. Carson." Thomas told him sullenly.

"Well, I may not have one currently, though I am sure I still get a few grumbles even now. But, believe me, I've had my share. When I was first footman, they called me Charlie-Know-It-All." Thomas laughed, despite himself. Mr. Carson was not offended, but smiled.

"Then, when I became butler, it was King Charles or Charlemagne."

"Better to be a king than to be a sergeant." Thomas smiled self-deprecatingly.

"I'll tell Mrs. Patmore to give you a promotion next time." Charles joked. Thomas smiled back. It was a strange sensation talking with Mr. Carson like this. The last few weeks with Mr. Carson away had given everyone a new perspective, it seemed. Thomas felt like he'd been given yet another chance to begin again at Downton. He would not waste this one.

Mr. Carson regarded the clock on his desk and rose from his chair. "We shall continue your education tomorrow, Mr. Barrow. I must go serve luncheon now."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. Would you like for me to serve instead? You've only just returned."

"No. Thank you, Mr. Barrow, for the offer. But I think I should like to see the family before dinner."_ Best to get it over with._

Charles saw Elsie in the kitchen speaking to Mrs. Patmore. She looked up as he passed the door. He knew she was nervous for him, but he had no words of comfort for her, so he simply nodded and headed up the stairs.

* * *

**A/N- The next chapter may take a few days to post, but will be quite eventful...Stay tuned.**


	32. Chapter 32

After checking the table and sideboard that James and Alfred had laid, Mr. Carson opened the dining room door for luncheon. Carson was half expecting Lord Grantham to be waiting there. Robert was usually the first person down for all the meals; the women always tending towards the fashionably late. But today Carson was surprised to find all the ladies gathered.

"Carson!" Only now that she felt the relief did Mary realize how much she had doubted that he would return. She choked back her tears before they could form. It was a welcome thing to know that she was still capable of happy tears, but she told herself that now was not the time to indulge.

Cora smiled up at Mr. Carson. "We didn't expect to see you until dinner. Tom will be sorry he missed you, but had some business on the estate. I expressly told the girls they could not go downstairs today so you and Mrs. Carson could settle back in without interference."

"There is not much settling to do, My Lady. Most of the adjustments will be on Mrs. Carson's side." Cora lay a hand on his arm briefly before she walked into the dining room.

"I told Mama you would be here for lunch." Edith informed him as she gave him a warm smile. "I knew you would want to check up on the footman as soon as possible." Carson gave her a half nod in return.

Rose swatted him on the side of his arm briskly. "Welcome home, old boy." She also winked at him but his face did not crack. Carson did raise his eyebrows at her, which she took as a victory.

Mary was the last to come through. She wanted to say something but words would not form in her head or on her lips. Her happy smile was enough of a welcome for him. She was almost past him when she stepped quickly up on her tiptoes and gave Carson the lightest of pecks on the cheek. He still did not crack a smile, but the corner of his mouth did twitch imperceptivity.

When Robert heard all the women's voices in the dining room, he was concerned. Was there something wrong? When he saw the source of their punctuality, he half considered turning around and leaving. Cora had unnecessarily reminded him that Carson was returning today, but Robert had not expected him to be serving luncheon. Robert was not fully prepared to face the butler just now.

Robert had hoped to get the butler on his own before dinner to properly confess his guilt. This was not a matter that either man wished to handle publicly, Robert was sure of that. The best course of action for the moment was to act as though nothing had happened at all. With this resolution in his head, Robert walked into the dining room. His carriage was perhaps more imperious than he intended.

"Ah, Mr. Carson. Good to have you back. I hope you do not find the house in too much disorder."

"I find matters to be well in hand, My Lord. The staff have acquitted themselves admirably."

Both their faces betrayed nothing but bored disinterest. They could have been discussing toast. Lord Grantham shook his napkin out and placed it on his lap signaling that lunch could commence.

All of the women suppressed their natural desires to begin yelling at the Lord and butler simultaneously. Mary had told her mother about her discussion with Carson. Cora had spread the word; this was not their fight. Lord Grantham and Carson were to be given the space and time to work things out between them. Cora had noticed a change in Robert since the wedding. She was confident that he intended to do the honorable thing.

Carson hoped fervently that Lord Grantham would not make a show of reconciliation publicly. He would still like to keep things between them as much as possible. In this case, a public apology would feel like a forced apology. And a forced apology was worse than none at all.

Nothing more was said by either man. Lunch was served without further drama. Rose was more than a little disappointed at this development, but she held out hope that there would be fireworks eventually. She did not just hope for a spectacle for her own entertainment. As much as she respected Cousin Robert, Rose recognized better than the others how destructive avoidance could be. She knew firsthand the result of letting discontent fester. Better to fight openly than to let resentment become a cold and impenetrable wall of hatred. For the moment, however, both combatants hid behind a barricade of manners.

CE—

"Well?" Elsie was waiting at the base of the stairs as Charles returned from upstairs.

He had expected this and was prepared. "It was luncheon, Mrs. Carson, nothing more. You may tell Mrs. Patmore that the new pickles were greatly enjoyed."

"And that's all? Nothing else?" She searched his face, which was frustratingly passive.

"They ate their lunch as usual. Would you like a blow for blow account?" She could tell he was becoming annoyed with the attention.

"Not just now. But perhaps later." She was not about to let him bury this. Elsie did not want to nag, but he needed to know that this was as important to her as it was to him.

"Perhaps." She heard a twinge of sadness in his reply. Elsie knew he was just focusing on getting through the day. She resolved not to make it any more difficult.

"Very well, I believe Mr. Bates is waiting to go over the books with you. Shall I send in some tea?"

"That would be very welcome. Thank you, love." He took her hand and squeezed it gently. Looking around quickly, he realized they were alone so he risked a quick kiss to her temple before heading to his office.

CE—

After luncheon, Robert had retired to the library to finalize his plan of attack. He knew that he could not go downstairs to find Carson without it being remarked upon. This would draw attention that was unwelcome to both parties.

It was out of the question to ring for Carson. One does not summon the person to whom one owes an apology.

Robert realized that he would have to catch Carson alone in the normal course of his duties. Robert had not thought this would be difficult. The butler was ubiquitous most days. As the afternoon wore on, Robert realized this was not like most days. It did not help matters that Mary was still stalking him. Every place Robert expected to find Carson, he found Mr. Barrow and Mary. At tea, Thomas had finally explained the butler's absence; off-handedly mentioning that Carson and Mr. Bates were reviewing the household books together.

His best hope was to ambush Mr. Carson at the ringing of the changing gong. Robert would have to time it perfectly to avoid Mary's interference. If he could catch Carson just before the gong and politely request his presence immediately after the gong, it just might work. But he was thwarted again. Carson was not the one sent to sound the gong, but Mr. Barrow again. Frustrated and exhausted, Robert climbed the stairs to his room. He did not even register Mary calling up the stairs after him. If he had heard her, he probably would have broken into a run.

Bates was not in his room when RObert arrived and his clothes had not been laid out. This only served to further darken Robert's mood. In Bates' defense, Robert was not usually in his room to change so soon after the gong. Robert pulled the bell cord as he began to undress.

What was he going to do now? Carson's behavior during lunch had confirmed that the butler did not want anything discussed in front of the ladies. But had his behavior and his scarcity during the day signaled something else? Did Carson want the matter dropped altogether? Would Robert be tearing open a healing wound by reintroducing their disagreement?

Carson was probably still embarrassed that he had overstepped his role as butler. Maybe the weeks away had done their work and Carson was over the words Robert had spoken. They were so ridiculous; they could not have been taken seriously. Come to think of it, Carson had seemed fine at the wedding. Perhaps further discussion of their argument was unwelcome by Carson as well. Or was Robert trying to convince himself of this so he could avoid the uncomfortable conversation with his butler?

Robert wished he could discuss this with Bates. In another case, he would have but Robert was afraid to open the topic with his valet. What if he found out that Bates had told Carson about the women in Africa? Then he would be forced to dismiss Bates, which would lose them Anna, which would cause Mary to hate him even more. For a man accustomed to a loving support system, Robert found himself unaccountably isolated.

Finally, Robert heard Bates' cane in the hallway. "I am sorry to keep you waiting, My Lord." Robert felt a flash of guilt. Mr. Bates had obviously rushed here. "I was trying to help Mr. Carson decipher my handwriting. I am afraid bookkeeping is not my strength."

The mention of Mr. Carson and the mess that had occurred in his absence was the perfect opening. Robert almost took advantage, but his courage failed him. No. He would not bring anyone else into his business with Carson. Robert would observe the butler over the next few days to see if an apology was even necessary. He told himself it would spare them both embarrassment. Part of him actually believed it.

CE—

Dinner had passed as uneventfully as luncheon. Though Robert had been momentarily alone with Carson after dinner, he said nothing. Carson's demeanor was as steady as ever. It was as though nothing unpleasant had ever passed between them. Robert began to truly believe that nothing more would be required of him than to give his blessing for the cottage for the Carson's.

Mr. Carson was quiet at the servant's dinner, but his appetite was back. This was a welcome sign for Mrs. Carson who had made a point of not asking Charles about dinner. They would be alone soon enough and he would tell her what he wanted to tell her. She resolved to be content with that, for the present.

Not long after their dinner, Carson encouraged the staff to make an early night of it. "There are a few things that have been neglected that will need to be seen to tomorrow. It will be a full day for everyone and you will all need your rest." The staff had had their fun at lunch and they needed to be reminded that standards would not slip just because the butler and the housekeeper were now man and wife. But some things had changed. As they gathered their reading materials or sewing kits to turn in, Mr. Carson had added. "Good night, all. And sleep well."

But neither the butler nor the housekeeper were going to bed just yet. Three weeks of being handled by Mr. Barrow first and then Mr. Bates had turned the usually tidy Downton ledgers into scratch pads of hieroglyphics. Charles had spent almost all afternoon with John trying to decode the books, but he had yet to find a Rosetta Stone.

Thomas' entries were neatly written and legible, but the under butler had used his own system of naming the vendors, consisting of initials and nicknames. Carson suspected Mr. Barrow had been trying to conceal the fact that he was not returning the gratuities to the household. Thomas probably thought if he made it mildly confusing, Mr. Carson would not bother to follow up on resolving the bills to the ledger. Charles wondered if Thomas understood him at all.

In a way, Mr. Bates' entries were even worse. Mr. Bates' handwriting could best be compared to the Chinese characters Mr. Carson encountered at the tea shop in London. If you looked long enough, you would start to recognize some symbols, but not enough to understand the message. Carson had absently wondered how Anna had read any of the letters from Mr. Bates when he was in prison.

John claimed his handwriting was not usually so bad, but that he'd been rushed and had usually been quite tired. Charles tried to be understanding, remembering the extra strain his absence had put on Mr. Bates, but it was difficult. What was the point of writing anything down if no one could read it a few days later? Even Mr. Bates could not read most of his own notations.

They'd spent hours already trying to cobble together the mystery of the ledger. Usually, it was Mr. Carson prompting John with something like, 'Mrs. Taft likes to do her billing on the first of the month.' Or 'Four pounds is usually the cost for a case of shoe polish.' These would trigger a memory, a receipt would be located and that line of the ledger resolved. But after the whole afternoon, they were still less than halfway done.

It was nearly midnight when Mrs. Carson came to find her husband. She'd been holed up in her sitting room with Beryl catching up on the developments of the past six days. And there had been developments, especially where Daisy was concerned. She could not wait to tell Charles.

Elsie found him with several ledgers spread out in front of him and a pile of receipts. He had decided to compare the ledgers from past months in order to determine what the orders might be for. The system was effective, but it was slow work. Charles barely noticed her walking into the room. She had knocked, but had not received any reply. His coat lay folded over the back of his chair.

Silently, Elsie picked up the clock on his desk and placed it in the middle of the ledger he was currently inspecting. "We all need our rest, Mr. Carson." She reminded him.

He sighed and looked up at her wearily. But he also looked happy. She knew how glad he was to be back; to be home. She walked around behind his chair and began to rub his shoulders. "What are you doing, Mrs. Carson?"

"Who is this Mrs. Carson you speak of?" She teased.

"Am I to understand that I am addressing Mrs. Hughes at the moment?"

"Now you understand." She reached from behind him to unbutton his collar.

"This does not seem very conducive to rest, Mrs. Hughes."

"You aren't going to pretend to be modest now, are you? It seems a little late for that." She was now rubbing his chest lightly. "And are you going to tell me you don't find _this_ relaxing?"

"Umm humm," was all he could manage. It was neither an affirmative nor a negative. He was about to turn to her and give into the moment when he realized where they were. "I am sorry, love. Shall we perhaps continue this upstairs?"

She was a little disappointed. "Upstairs? Why not here?" He hands did not stop moving slowly as she whispered in his ear. "Surely you've thought of it before; you and me, here, on this desk?"

_Many times._ "But this is a public room. Such activity would not be appropriate here. And the ledgers are enough of a mess as is." He tried to sound resolute.

She detached from him with a playful huff. "Is the honeymoon over already, then?" It was a gentle reproach, but she was sincerely disappointed. She had planned to fulfill one of her longstanding fantasies tonight.

He stood and faced her, kissing her brow tenderly. "We've not even started our honeymoon, love. But in these public rooms, we are still just butler and housekeeper. We have to maintain a line between our personal and professional lives. In so far as that is even possible." He removed his coat from the back of his chair and wrapped it around her. She was suddenly surrounded by his warmth and his smells. "If you care to join me in our room upstairs, I will be more than happy to help you relax."

Elsie knew it was the best she could hope for tonight, but she would not give up on her dream. "Very well, love." And she allowed herself to be led up the stairs to their room. Another night, perhaps...

* * *

**A/N- This is only half of the chapter I intended to deliver today; hence, nothing much happening. I will try to have the second half up early tomorrow. Something very much happens in the next chapter.**


	33. Chapter 33

A cottage was chosen and was being prepared for them. A larger bed had been brought into Mr. Carson's room for the short term. Sharing such a small room might have been a problem for two less organized people, but Charles had simply moved everything to the left and ceded the right side of everything to Elsie.

Over the next few days, they were learning a new routine. After watching her a few times, Charles was determined to learn how to braid Elsie's hair. His first attempts were not very successful, but he promised to apply himself.

Their physical relationship was much more subdued here than it had been at Crawley House. It had nothing to do with shyness or fear of being overheard; they were somewhat isolated. Their room was between two empty rooms; Mr. Bates' former room and Mrs. Carson's. Yet their first attempts had not resulted in satisfaction for either party. Charles seemed inhibited by the fact that they were in Downton at all. They both silently hoped for the cottage to be ready soon.

Elsie suspected there was also a link to his stress over the status of his relationship with His Lordship. Charles tried to ignore the tightness he felt in his chest every time he considered his sense of humiliation in Lord Grantham's presence. He tried not to dwell on the prospect that it would never end. The worry and the tension crept up on him at unexpected times, including their most intimate moments. His thoughts were distracted and the effects were noticeable most especially at night.

Still, sharing a bed calmly and lovingly had its advantages. It was like their evenings together on the settee, supportive and comforting, but with less clothing between them. As they cuddled that first evening, attributing their failure to exhaustion, Elsie had told him all about her talk with Beryl. Charles was not surprised that Daisy was planning to leave service in the spring and take up residence with Mr. Mason. He knew there was bound to be some talk, but knowing what little he did of Mr. Mason, Charles was not concerned for Daisy in the least.

He was shocked when Elsie told him the rest of the news. "Mrs. Patmore is going with her?"

"Only for a month, to help her settle in."

"And whose idea was that, pray tell?" Though Charles thought he had an idea.

Elsie hedged the truth a bit. "I believe it was Daisy's. The poor girl is just that nervous about the transition. She said it would make her more comfortable." The truth was both Mr. Mason and Beryl had independently suggested the scheme to Daisy. But Daisy did truly feel more comfortable with the move under these conditions.

"And has it been suggested that Alfred go as a chaperone?"

Elsie had pinched him upon that suggestion. "Now you are not taking this seriously."

"On the contrary, I take very seriously the prospect of losing our cook and her assistant all at once. I suppose you already have a replacement in mind."

"As a matter of fact, I might. Beryl heard from Mrs. Bird a few months back. She'd doing well in Manchester, but thought there might be some work in Downton. Mr. Molesley still corresponds with her as well."

"Mrs. Bird? Are you sure? She's Mrs. Patmore only without the sunny disposition."

Elsie laughed, Mrs. Bird had not exactly been a ray of sunshine, but she did have a good heart. And Elsie felt somewhat responsible for her losing her place at Crawley House. If she had only kept a better eye on Ethel, the whole series of events that led to Mrs. Bird's resignation could have been avoided. She knew it was a stretch, but still, Elsie would welcome the chance to make amends.

"It won't matter. Beryl will be back before the family comes back from London."

"Are you so sure about that?"

Elsie did not answer.

"Humph." Charles grunted knowingly. "Can they at least wait until we are back from our honeymoon? I don't like to think of what will happen if we all abandon Downton for the same month."

"Beryl says they are willing to work with our schedule. But won't the weather be better in Blackpool later in the Season?"

"Perhaps it will. But why should you be concerned with Blackpool, love? We can visit May first, but I plan to spend most of our month on the Riviera and I plan for you to be there too."

"Plans are funny things, Charles. 'There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.'" But she liked to know that he was still dreaming of them seeing Italy together.

"Then we'll just have to drink quickly." He teased and rolled her towards him in the bed.

"Are you sure quick is the word you want to use just now?" She joked. But his answer was decidedly nonverbal and was decidedly not quick. This time he felt only a slight tightening in his chest this time and it was more successful than before, but they both still felt something was amiss.

CE—

To the casual observer, Downton had returned to the calm and order that had existed before Mr. Carson had left for Hull. For the staff, things were as they should be. Mr. Barrow had been properly humbled; publicly acknowledging his unacceptable behavior to the staff the evening after Mr. Carson's return. He had also written to Grantham House to patch things with Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Whitman. Everyone was glad to see Thomas promising to be less pretentious, but most of the staff doubted that the conversion was permanent.

For the family, however, things were still strained. Robert was still avoiding Mary. Tom was still finding estate work to keep him away from the house. Edith took every opportunity to run into London. Rose took any excuse to visit Cousin Violet.

Cora did not know how to reach Robert, who insisted everything was fine between him and Carson. She tried not to notice how the butler's shoulders sagged a bit more with each day. How did Robert not see it? How long could he maintain this willful delusion?

It was approaching their one week anniversary when the Carson's cottage was fully prepared. Robert asked Cora for the honor of presenting the key to the happy couple. "Are you sure?" She questioned. "If you are wrong about him not wanting an apology, this could go very ill. I should be there as well." Unfortunately, she and Rose already had plans to visit Isobel that afternoon. Both Carsons were far too busy to bother in the morning. If they were going to spend tonight in their cottage, Robert was the only option.

Reluctantly, Cora agreed. "Or Mary could be there." She offered, not having noticed his avoidance of Mary in her obsession with watching the interaction between the Lord and butler.

"You are worrying over nothing." Robert soothed her. Mary was most certainly not going to be there. Robert was now convinced Carson did not want an apology. Robert felt he could improve his relationship with Carson by giving them their cottage and being honestly happy for them both. And he was.

CE—

"…And you may move in today if you wish!" Robert smiled grandly. He held the key out to Carson who looked at it as though it might be poisoned.

Elsie stood quietly at her husband's side. _And now we are meant to be grateful to him?_ This man was standing before them as though he had brought this all about himself and was magnanimously gifting them a life together. Elsie felt her bile rising at the ignominy. She bit back the words forming in her mind, crashing at her skull, wanting to get out. She smiled benignly and waited to follow her husband's lead.

Elsie looked at Charles. She knew his training and instincts were prompting him to be deferential; to accept the key and to thank His Lordship. Besides his hesitation, only a small flare of his nostrils betrayed the anger and humiliation he must be feeling. But Elsie knew what it was costing him. She knew what it would cost him every day as long as they stayed at Downton. Elsie was convinced that His Lordship would never apologize if they allowed the entire matter to be swept under the rug now.

Charles retiring while she still worked was not an option. She could not work under Mr. Barrow while her husband wasted away in a cottage and she could not let Charles work for a man who could not issue a simple and deserved apology. It would hurt his pride which would hurt them both and poison their young marriage. It was enough to know he was willing to face that for her. Surely, she could try a new home for him.

She decided in that moment, it was all or nothing. She and Mr. Carson would remain at Downton together, on their own terms _with_ an apology, or they would begin a new life in Hull. It was time to stop tiptoeing around this spoiled brat and demand a decision.

She stepped forward half a step, demanding Lord Grantham's attention. "There is still the small matter of an apology, My Lord."

He had not expected this. "This does not concern you, Mrs. Hu- Mrs. Carson."

"And is a wife not to be concerned when her husband is insulted?" Elsie questioned.

Robert looked at Mr. Carson, expecting him to rein Mrs. Carson in. When he did not, Robert could not resist teasing him, "Less than a week married and you are already tamed, Carson?"

Carson's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared again, but his voice was calm. "Gladly so, My Lord."

"Stand down, Mr. Carson." Charles turned to look at her, confused. Then he realized he had been flexing his left hand, a nasty habit of his when he was put out or flustered. She knew that. Apparently, His Lordship did not. He'd been eyeing Carson's hand with apprehension.

_As though I would hit an Earl. Well, maybe for Elsie…,_ but she didn't need a champion today. She was just using him to toy with Lord Grantham. Charles found that he could accept that. Elsie was the only person who had not had their say with Robert. She was the one who perhaps deserved a go at him the most.

"Very well, Mrs. Carson." He gruffed, playing up his part and taking a step back.

"But isn't this what you wanted? We've offered everything you asked." Lord Grantham was incredulous that they were insisting on making this an issue. He thought his contrition was unnecessary and he had conveniently forgotten his guilt over the past few days. Robert was not prepared for this turn of events. Cora had negotiated all of this with Mrs. Carson before the wedding. "We financed your wedding, we've let you retain your jobs, offered a secure retirement when you choose it, and will grant you a full month for honeymoon during the Season."

Charles' voice was almost gratifying, "Her Ladyship has been very generous and has offered everything in her power. All that remains is the one thing that is solely within your power; an apology."

Elsie jumped in here, "One would think that should be easy for a gentleman to grant."

"I am entitled to retain my dignity in my own house, Mrs. Carson."

"But you cannot just throw money at us to ease your conscious." When Robert did not answer this, she pressed on. "Downton may be your house, My Lord, but it is our home. Not by birth or by right, but because we've earned it through all the _work_ we've given to this house and to your family. You will find the true soul of this house comes from downstairs."

Robert took exception to this. "How can you say that? After all I've sacrificed for Downton…"

"SACRIFICE?" Her voice pitched higher and her eyes grew large. Robert had simply said the wrong thing to the wrong woman on the wrong day. "What do YOU know about sacrifice? What have you _ever_ sacrificed!?

"I've heard you claim that you've given so much to Downton, but I'll be jiggered if I can name one thing. Downton supports you, not the other way round. It seems to me what you call sacrifice is simply a case of you not getting _exactly_ what you wanted _exactly_ _when_ you wanted it. The rest of the world would not consider that sacrifice, My Lord. We consider that life. And a rather charmed life at that."

She was rolling now. Her brogue was so thick it was possible Lord Grantham was only catching every other word. Charles now understood that it had been a mistake to force her to avoid this confrontation. The timing could not be worse, but she had earned this. After weeks of ducking this very conversation for his sake, she was entitled to have it for her own sake. Charles only hoped that she would not go too far.

Robert did not know how unwise it was to answer back to Mrs. Carson when she was justifiably angry. "I was forced to marry…"

"Yes, the terrible forced marriage." She cut him off with a grand eye roll. "And how has that worked out for you? Shall we tell Lady Cora that your great sacrifice in life was marrying her? As though it was such a welcome thing for her at the time?

"Oh, dear me, you didn't get to marry for love? Poor thing! You just happened to marry a delightful woman who was richer than Midas, with whom you did eventually fall in love. And together, you proceeded to have a lovely family. Will your trials never cease?" She was in full swing now, dramatically throwing her arms at the sky as if imploring the gods to have mercy on this poor man and his tribulations. She let the moment hang in the air; giving Robert a chance to reply. He could not.

"Having duty dictate who and when you can marry? That must just be your lot in life. No one could possibly understand that. r. Carson and I certainly wouldn't know _anything _about that." She finished, the sarcasm dripping like acid from a battery.

She would have stopped there, but Robert just stood there stupidly. His gormless look further enraged her. Could nothing reach get through his dense head? Fresh frustration welled up in her and Elsie caught a second wind.

"And what do you know of real problems? Oh, dear, we've lost our fortune because we tried to take our vast amount of money and turn it into more money." She brought her hands comically to her face which wore an exaggerated look of horror. "We'll have to move ten miles down the road into a slightly smaller house. Heaven forbid!

"And any child could have told you not to put all your eggs in one basket. They weren't even YOUR eggs!" She was bordering on hysterical now. Her ranting was almost at its end. She cast her imagination around for another insightful insult but could only come up with,"And have you ever so much as _missed_ a meal?"

"I think you have made your point, love." Carson thought she was getting too personal now. He took her hand to calm her. The sound of Carson's voice seemed to shake Robert out of his stupor. How could he bring this back into an arena where he stood a fighting chance?

"So, the great Charles Carson is a coward after all. Letting a woman fight his battles?" Robert was trying to salvage this by cutting Mrs. Carson out of the argument. He might stand a chance against Carson on his own.

Carson stood tall and imposing, but his voice was soft. "I have never claimed greatness, but I don't think you should speak to me of cowardice, My Lord. My battles are hers now. She has as much stake in this as I do and she is entitled to express herself."

"And are they your opinions, Carson?" There was a hint of pleading in his voice. It gave Charles some hope that Lord Grantham might still see reason.

"I believe you are aware of my opinions, My Lord. However, I might note that, with the possible exception of the comment about never missing a meal, I believe she has simply expressed facts in her own inimitable way. I believe you are man enough to acknowledge that."

Silence wove a heavy cloud around them.

Charles stood before the Earl of Grantham like a man facing a firing squad composed of blind men. He had little chance for a clean death, but there was some slim hope of survival, however painful it might prove. The most likely outcome was a painful death. Carson was unsure of what outcome to pray for.

Robert was struggling with his anger. It was unfair of the two of them to team up on him like this. In the space of a few minutes, Mrs. Carson had discounted and trivialized his entire life; hadn't she? It did not occur to him that his similar treatment of Mr. Carson had triggered this entire series of events.

"I acknowledge that I have been deceived in your devotion to me and my family. I take it that our generous offer to allow you to remain here is now being rejected."

Elsie was looking at him as though he were a dimwitted child. "Do you even know what this is about? You speak of generosity when you are offering something that costs you nothing. Do you even know how insulting your treatment of Mr. Carson has been? Forget your petulance over the last few weeks. This started when you insulted his years of service, and insinuated that he'd seduced your wife."

"I was insulted in that conversation as well. Perhaps I am owed an apology, Mrs. Carson."

"Very well," Elsie conceded, "I am very sorry, My Lord. I am sorry that your life is so empty and boring that you found it necessary to attack the person who has been most loyal to you when he was trying to help you."

"Loyal? Did he happen to mention what he accused me of?" Robert was indignant. "He said I was a horrible father, a disappointing son and he suggested I had an affair with a housemaid."

Elsie had been waiting for this opening. "Yes, shall we talk about Jane? You certainly did take a personal interest in her."

Charles was uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "I never accused you of any of those things, My Lord. I merely tried to help you reach Lady Mary. I do regret my tone, but not the words. I did accuse you of a misguided accusation. I may have implied that it arose from a guilty conscious, but I did not mention any specific cause." Turning back to Elsie, "My dear, I thought we agreed that we don't know anything about that other business."

"You saw for yourself the signs of particular interest he took in her. A woman with a child to raise does not simply resign from a respectable position in the middle of a postwar recession." Elsie pointed out. She looked at Lord Grantham, who could not return her gaze.

He'd been found out and he was ashamed, but Robert was more angry than anything else. The two of them had obviously discussed him and Jane. Carson had betrayed his trust. This was truly the last straw. He did not care how his family would react. Robert would never be able to face either of these people again without feeling shame. "Notice is not required, Mr. Carson. You and Mrs. Carson may quit the premises immediately. You should not expect a reference."

Elsie was not about to let him have the high ground or the last word. "As if we would need a reference from you." Elsie scoffed. There was still some wind left in her sails. "We are the ones who write the references from this house, My Lord. And you will find we have something stronger than references; we have reputations. There is not a house in this county that would not turn out their butler if they had the opportunity to replace him with Mr. Carson."

"Now, my dear, I think you have said quite enough." Charles placed his arm around her. Finally, Mr. Carson took the key from Robert's hand. The Earl had been holding it out in front of himself awkwardly through the whole conversation like a talisman to ward off evil. "We shall leave now, My Lord, if that is what you truly wish."

Charles and Robert locked eyes for a brief moment. Robert finally lowered his gaze and mumbled, "You are dismissed, Mr. Carson."

"Very well, Lord Grantham. I must profess myself disappointed." Charles dropped the key soundlessly onto the plush carpet.

Elsie noisily detached her ring of keys and threw them at His Lordship's feet before turning and exiting the room. Robert flinched a little, but still did not look up until he heard Mr. Carson's heavy step follow Mrs. Carson's quick steps through the door. When he did look up he was crying hot tears of anger and shame.

CE—

Elsie marched into the butler's pantry, heading directly for the whiskey she knew was in the bottom drawer. Carson followed a few steps behind, puffing slightly with the exertion of catching up to her.

She turned fiercely to face him as she took a swig directly off the bottle Tom had given them on their wedding night. "And _that,_ my love, is how you burn a bridge!" She said, feeling the liquid burn her throat almost as much as the coming tears burned her eyes.

"I'll never let it be said that you do things by half, my dear." Charles was smiling proudly at her. It stopped her tears dead in their tracks.

"You aren't upset?" Elsie sniffed.

"Not with you." He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "It was a mistake to make you hold it all in for so long. I kept thinking he'd come around before you'd need to have your say. Everyone else had their go but if that didn't reach him, nothing will." He took the bottle from her and drank deeply, making a face as he lowered the bottle. "I am afraid we've all been wasting our time and he isn't the man I thought he was. I guess he never has been."

It hurt to think that might be true. He still could not believe that it was, but reality proved otherwise. "The only question now is do we go to Lancashire or East Riding?"

"May won't be able to take us in, Charles. We'd be best off going back to Hull. Fredrick will be glad to see you and Suzanne and Emily were talking of trying to mount a New Year's party. It sounded like they could use my help."

Smiling at her, Charles said. "Hull it is then. Wait here." He set down the whiskey, stepped out the door and disappeared around the corner. When he returned, he was carrying two empty wine crates. "I've been concerned with how things might go ever since we got back. I set these aside for just this eventuality."

_Always thinking two steps ahead._ She could not have loved him more in that instant. It barely registered to her that he had locked the door behind him. He moved to his desk and began carefully removing the personal items and placing them in one of the crates. When nothing remained but some random papers and ledgers, he set the crate aside. He turned to her and held out his hand.

"What is it, my love?" She approached him cautiously. She had not seen this predatory look in his eyes since they'd arrived back at Downton from Crawley House.

"I simply have something I would like to discuss with you, Mrs. Hughes." _A matter of a fantasy_. He smiled mischievously as he swept the papers onto the floor with one motion and lifted her onto the desk with the next. It would have been improper under any other circumstances, but since they were no longer employed here, he had no compunction abandoning the rules of propriety.

She knew the lines by heart; after all, it was her fantasy. "But Mr. Carson, if we are found out, it could mean our jobs." Her hands pushed weakly against his chest. His lips followed his fingers as they unbuttoned her dress.

There was no more tightness in his chest and his body was already responding more fully to his desire for her than it had in days. He smiled wickedly up at her. "Well then, Mrs. Hughes, we had better make the most of it."

* * *

**A/N- Sorry to take us away from Downton again, but Robert was not contrite enough for my taste. I guess I really do enjoy watching him suffer. Seriously, it's important to me that he realize how little Charles and Elsie need Downton. ****I believe they are people who would succeed anywhere, not just by his good graces. Of course, they might prefer to be at Downton...but let's see what happens.**

**Also, I would like for Robert to look at his life from a truer perspective than they give him in the show. Fellowes writes him like some sort of benevolent moron. I cannot keep from comparing him to Forrest Gump in my mind. But, he does belong to Fellowes and not to me, as do all these characters, so I can wish all I like, and come play with them all in this AU.  
**

**BTW, In case it wasn't clear, I am not a fan of Forrest Gump. I like characters who are complex and intelligent, not simple and stupid.**

**I am unlikely to be near internet this weekend, so I will update as soon as I can on Monday. Enjoy your weekend. Any and all reviews, comments, suggestions and requests are welcome. Thankfully, most of the next few chapters have been written for weeks, so I hope to post every day next week. **


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N- Thank you for the thoughtful critical comments and reviews. I've responded to some specific comments at the end of this chapter but let's get right back into the story for now. **

* * *

When Charles and Elsie emerged from the butler's pantry, a bit flushed, word of their dismissal had already spread downstairs. Ivy had overheard the entire exchange and had broadcast the news with surprising efficiency.

All of Charles' personal effects from his pantry were now packed into one of the wine crates. Elsie took the empty crate to her office. Charles saw Anna and Bates hovering uncomfortably in the servant's hall where everyone seemed suddenly to have a reason to be.

"Anna, Mrs. Carson would be grateful for your help." It was all the invitation that Anna needed. She rushed after Elsie, the uninvited Mrs. Patmore in her wake.

"Mr. Bates, would you please help me upstairs? There are many things to discuss and time is short." The two men headed up to the men's side of the attic. Carson pulled a large suitcase out from under the bed. This suitcase usually accompanied him to London each season. He had never dreamed he would be packing it with no thought of ever returning to Downton.

He began to empty the dresser contents into the suitcase. "I feel terrible doing this to you, John. But the situation here is not what I had hoped. In short, it has become untenable." Charles wanted to know if His Lordship had ever discussed the quarrel with the valet, but he could not ask John to betray the office of valet. "Mrs. Carson and I have decided to leave Downton."

"So we all heard."

"Really? How?" That explained the crowd in the servant's hall.

"Poor Ivy was stuck in the library front room through the whole exchange. She was stocking the wood piles and couldn't sneak out before the three of you came into the main library."

"Poor girl, indeed." Carson commiserated. "And she has told you _everything_ she heard?" Carson did not want the unsubstantiated rumor about Jane to get about. He would feel terrible if Lady Cora were to become an object of humiliation because of this. It was a line he wished Elsie had not crossed.

"Thankfully, she came to Mrs. Patmore first, who brought her to Anna. They've encouraged her to edit her story. She didn't fully understand the parts about Jane, anyway." John and Charles exchanged a look here. They had never discussed the topic between them and John had never mentioned the African prostitutes. Lord Grantham had resisted visiting the brothels longer than his fellow officers, but had eventually succumbed after a suggestion from command that was practically an order. He had assuaged his conscious by being loyal to only one 'lady' for as long as possible. And his visits were not frequent. There had even been a few suspenseful months near the end of the war. Robert had been prepared to do the right thing, but when the child was born, the father was proven to be one of the native scouts. John had some suspicions about Jane, but understood Robert probably still felt guilty about Africa. "She's agreed to leave that part out of her telling."

"Well, that is something at least. You will keep an eye on that, I should hope."

John nodded solemnly, "Yes, of course."

"Regarding other matters, based on the lessons learned the last time I left, I have some suggestions that I hope will take some of the burden off of you, but will still protect the staff from Mr. Barrow's ego."

"Anything you can offer would be most welcome, Charles, but before we discuss that, is there no way to convince you to stay?"

Charles' voice was low as he finally removed a small, framed poem from the wall. He considered it for a few moments. "I think the decision is no longer in my power."

"I could speak to him..."

"No! That would be disastrous at this point. Mrs. Carson and I have a plan for leaving. We will be fine. You and Anna are not ready to leave Downton. Not yet." He placed the poem on top of the neatly folded items on the left side of the case and covered it with his spare dress shirt. "And we should not abandon the staff completely to Mr. Barrow." He smiled at Bates.

"I suppose not." John tried to smile as well. "Very well, if there is nothing to be done, tell me how we are to manage without you both."

CE—

Twenty minutes later, Bates understood the plan and agreed that it could work. The suitcase was packed and was quite heavy, but that was to be expected, considering it held almost all the earthly belongings of two people. This suitcase and the two crates downstairs represented everything Charles and Elsie could call theirs. Charles and John left the attics together. Charles left the case on the ground floor landing and went downstairs to find his wife.

He found her in the housekeeper's sitting room. She was hugging Beryl and Anna, alternately. They were not tearful, but they seemed unlikely to ever willingly release her. There was a pang in his heart to know this was his fault. It made no sense that they were leaving, and yet, it was happening. If he'd just faced Lord Grantham himself when this all started... but he'd let too many other people get involved and now it was too big for any of them.

Over his shoulder he saw that the staff were still gathered loosely downstairs. Had it really only been a few days since their triumphant return? _Life is a funny business. _Looking at the staff, Charles felt the need to settle the nervous discomfort that he saw. He walked into the hall and stood just inside the door. It was just where he'd stood when he'd broken the news of Lady Sybil's death. Elsie had followed him into the hall and now stood beside him.

"Many of you will have heard of recent developments upstairs and of angry words that were spoken." Elsie lowered her eyes abashedly at this. The exhilaration of giving Lord Grantham the what for was beginning to wear off. Charles had prolonged the euphoria with their forbidden liaison, but reality had patiently waited for her to come back down from her high. And now, she had.

Elsie turned to face the staff. "Ivy, the words you overheard were said in anger and frustration. I ask you to forget the rant of a few moments and remember how proud we both are to have worked for this household with all of you."

Charles took her hand and addressed everyone. "Mrs. Carson and I have new opportunities outside of service that we plan to pursue. I wish we could have resigned with more dignity, but life is not always cooperative." _That was certainly an understatement._ "As much as we might have hoped otherwise, our relationship would have affected the level of service in this house. We shall never forget your kindness to us the past few weeks.

"I know you will all continue to serve Downton with pride and professionalism. We are leaving Downton to you now." Elsie had reached out to Anna and taken her hand; Anna had taken John's. Soon, to Carson's amazement, the whole staff were holding hands in a rough circle. Some could only reach and touch the shoulder of the person in front of them, but everyone was connected. No one stood alone or apart.

Charles became vaguely aware that Thomas was holding his right hand. He was acutely aware that they were all waiting for him to say something. The air was still. The house was as silent as the space between heartbeats. "God bless this house and all that dwell here."

"Amen," came the collective answer. And then the moment was gone. Everyone rushed off in their own direction to tend to their heretofore neglected responsibilities. The heart of the house began to beat once more. Charles and Elsie were left with John, Anna and Beryl.

Charles was determined to leave Downton by the front door. Not only was it symbolic and dignified, but it meant they would not have to pass the pathway that led to the cottages. The cottage closest to the main house sat furnished, waiting to welcome inhabitants that would now never come. Charles had not visited the cottage yet, but he had sent a hall boy to time how quickly an urgent message could be carried from the main house to the cottage. Charles had been gratified to know that it was less than two minutes there and back. But that path was no longer his to take and Charles did not have the strength to walk past it.

CE—

Elsie saw the car before Charles did, but there was nothing to be done. There was nowhere to hide. They were on the gravel road that ran through the great lawn. They had hoped to reach the gatehouse before the women returned home.

"Blast." Charles had seen the car. They stepped to the side of the road. Charles removed his hat as the car passed.

There was a spray of gravel and calls of "Stop!" as Mary almost jumped out of the still moving car. Lowell managed to stop just in time. She stumbled upon landing, but found her feet quickly and hurried towards the waiting couple.

"What is the meaning of this?" She saw the suitcase. "No, you mustn't leave. You can't!" Heedless of propriety, Mary grasped Carson violently, both arms wrapped fully around him. Slowly, Charles patted her back, trying to calm her, but mindful of the eyes that were on them. "I am sorry, My Lady. We have to go. You will see that it is for the best, in the end."

"No, I shall not. That is a ridiculous thing to say." Her tears spilled freely.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged, "but it is the best I can do. Please, you must let us go."

_This cannot be happening, _her mind told her. "But I was going to tell my grandchildren about the ghosts of Downton Abbey. I would tell them how the heavy steps that roamed the house on quiet nights belonged to the benevolent spirit that would always look after them." She pulled away from him to smile at Elsie through her tears.

"And I would tell them the soft jingle of keys they heard on the stormy nights belonged to his wife who looked after him and kept him company." Sybil and Matthew had been terrible losses, but they had been taken by death, something that could not be reasoned with or explained. She was sure Carson was leaving because her father had driven him out. Her look hardened. "I shall never forgive him." She spat.

"Then I am sorry for you both, My Lady." Carson pulled her back into his embrace gently. He spoke softly. "I know it will be difficult, but he needs you and you need him." _He's in more pain than I ever imagined or he never could have acted like this._ "And it was _our_ decision to leave. If you must be angry with anyone, you should be angry with me."

She pushed him back to look seriously into his face. "Carson, how could I ever be angry with you?"

He raised his eyebrows at her in mocking disbelief. "I seem to recall a few instances…" She sniffed a half laugh. He removed his handkerchief and wiped her eyes gently. He leaned down and whispered so only she could hear. "If you ever truly need me, child, know that I will be there. Always. You've only to ask." Her hat had flown off and he pressed a kiss into her hair.

He walked her back to the others who had not left their seats. Elsie now stood beside him as he helped Lady Mary back into the car. Elsie handed Lady Mary her hat. She nodded solemnly to Lady Cora. So much needed to be said, but all that came was, "Anna will know how to reach us."

Elsie and Charles stepped back as the car began to pull away. They both stood as they had a thousand times, side by side, and watched the ladies drive away. After a few moments, they turned together back down the road. Charles paused only to pick up the suitcase. He felt his chest tighten as they walked silently on.

CE—

Cora could not resist calling Violet the second she reached the house. Even though the Dowager despised the phone on general principle, this news could not wait and it was not to be relayed by the servants. Cora was surprised by the Dowager's response. There was only silence on the other end of the line. Cora was about to hang up and call again, assuming the connection had been lost or that Violet had accidentally hung up on her, when the answer finally came. One cold and almost inaudible sentence; "How can two, otherwise intelligent men be so collectively stupid?" Then Violet hung up; very much on purpose.

Charles and Elsie spent the night in Thirsk and were in Hull by noon the next day. Fredrick and Emily welcomed them happily into their home. Fredrick immediately began preparations to install them in the rooms above the warehouse.

During the week after the Carson's departure, the house was more like a museum than a home. The staff plugged gamely on, decorating for the holiday, but there was not much Christmas spirit. Bates kept an eye out for discontent, but gave Thomas most of the butler's responsibilities. For his part, Thomas was working hard not to repeat his past mistakes.

Mary refused to come down for any meals. She was back to the state she'd been immediately after Matthew's death. It was as though the four months of healing had never happened.

Robert had begun to sleep in his room in the evenings and was impossible to find during the days. He sat silently through the meals he bothered to attend. His only interactions were with Bates, Tom and Isis. Besides them, he spoke to no one and no one could think of anything to say to him. Cora was at her wit's end, she felt her family pulling apart at the seams.

Finally, she decided to salvage what she could of her family and the holiday season. The family was going to London. All of them, whether they liked it or not. There were too many places to hide in Downton.

* * *

**A/N- Skip this if you don't care about reviews and replies, etc.**

**For those of you interested, I would like to address comments that rightfully pointed out that I am being unfair to Robert. Yes. Yes, I am. I freely acknowledge this. I've not been shy about this. I like Robert. More specifically, I like what Hugh has made of Robert with the relatively thin material he's been given. I know Fellowes is going with the whole 'where do I belong in this brave new world?' thing with Robert. I am just not satisfied that he has let him go dark enough, yet. (It may still happen- Fellowes is telling his own story).**

**I admit I am making him pretty dark here, but I think it would be a legitimate response to Matthew's death for him to become more secluded emotionally and more unpredictable. I think most people are on board with that. If you are not, I am sorry to have wasted 34 chapters of your life. If you give me 5 or so more chapters, I hope it will prove to have a point in the end. ****I don't think this makes me (or anyone who enjoyed Elsie's rant) a hater.**

**Admittedly, the confrontation with Elsie was a stretch, but I have my own reasons for wanting them back in Hull. It is a soap opera, after all. I hope you will stick around. I promise, Robert is at the nadir of his character arc. **

**Also, I agree with the reviewer who said Robert would not be ruined by the Jane revelation and Charles and Elsie would be ruined with no reference. In my mind, Robert is not afraid of being humiliated publicly, but he is afraid of hurting Cora and he is ashamed because he is a man of character who made a mistake. I don't think he cares for the social consequences.  
**

**And, yes, Elsie was totally posturing. If their future relied on remaining in service, it would be difficult, though I do believe there would be some nouveau riche who would hire them, even in England. And I think they could get a reference from Cora, if push came to shove. But, they are not staying in service, so it's not an issue and she felt free to unload both barrels. Plus, she was an angry Scot on a roll and making sense was not on her agenda. **

**In short, I very much like Robert (and Hugh), but I get frustrated with what I see as his passive participation in his life. Writing about everyone yelling at him does rather feel like kicking a puppy; which is not an activity I indulge in or enjoy. I promise I am done kicking this puppy.**

**That's all, sorry that was so long. I'd have replied privately, but it was a guest review, so we've gone public. I welcome any constructive criticism and the review was _mostly_ constructive. By acknowledging our weaknesses, we grow. That's kind of the point of this story. **

**I'm not sure if that reviewer is still reading, but hope they are and I hope they will enjoy the resolution of this story. I don't like to think that I've made anyone that upset over fictional characters (though ones that we are all obviously obsessed with). I appreciate all of you who still are reading and I hope you will forgive and enjoy the license I've taken with all the characters (particularly your personal favorite). **

**BTW, they _still_ belong to Mr. Fellowes and, according to the restraining order, this is as close as I can get.**


	35. Chapter 35

"I am not going up to London, Mama." Mary sighed. Cora marveled at her ability to be completely bored by a topic about which she was also so adamant.

"It was not a request, dear." Cora was playing hardball now. They would all be in London together for Christmas if it killed her.

Mary noted her mother's steely tone, but could not simply cave in. "Aunt Rosamund will not want us bringing our gloom to her house the week before Christmas. You know how much she loves the holidays."

"Yes, I do know. And that is why we are opening Grantham House."

Mary relaxed at this information. "Oh. In that case, it will never happen, so I won't even waste my breath arguing with you."

"I believe it will happen."

"Then you are naïve, Mama. Thomas will never get Mrs. Collins' cooperation. Not after the things he said last time. There will be blood on the decks, mark my words."

"If you are so sure, how about a friendly wager? If Mr. Barrow can open Grantham House without inspiring a mutiny, you will come to London."

"And if he cannot?"

"Name your price."

Mary considered carefully. "You won't press me to come out of mourning for another six months." They both knew this was asking a lot.

"Very well." Cora agreed.

"Then it is a bet." And Mary shook her mother's hand. Mary was quite confident she would win.

CE—

"I won't be going, Cora." Robert's tone invited zero debate. Cora ignored his tone. She'd already committed a major breach of etiquette by coming to his room after dinner in her nightgown and robe. Mr. Bates had admitted her when she knocked and had made a hasty exit.

"Robert. You are the head of this family and we expect you to be with us on Christmas. I want the whole family together. Even if we just sit and glare at each other the whole time." She sat on the edge of his little bed.

"Doesn't that paint a jolly picture?" He was in the chair, removing his socks.

Still, she ignored him. "I've even managed to get Mary to come. You know she hasn't left Yorkshire since Matthew died. She needs this. Please, Robert."

He was intrigued now. "How ever did you convince Mary to go?"

"I bet her that Mr. Barrow could open up Grantham House without a servant's uprising."

Robert scoffed at that. "That's not very likely." He rose and put his shoes into the wardrobe.

"Would you like in on our bet?" Cora challenged him.

He considered. Had he just walked into a trap? "Why not? If Mary goes, I shall go."

"That's all I can ask." Cora smiled at him. It was the first smile he'd seen from his family in days. He wanted their talk to continue. He wanted her to stay. He was suddenly aware that she was in her night clothes. Boldly, he sat next to her on the bed.

"You've an awful lot riding on Mr. Barrow." Robert teased her tentatively.

"Please don't remind me." Encouraged by his overture, Cora took a risk. "I shall have nightmares and I already have difficulty enough sleeping in that big bed by myself."

_Is she flirting with me?_ Robert was struck by the oddness of the situation. Cora had not been happy with the Carson's departure, but she had dealt with the changes silently and she had not blamed him. She had been cold, but so had he. Robert was the one separating them now.

On some level, he was still ashamed to face her. Apparently, his missteps with Jane had not gone unnoticed. Even if the Carson's had not spread any rumors, others might have seen. Nothing had really happened between them, but he felt guilty for even allowing things to go as far as they had. Especially considering what Cora had been going through and how he had almost lost her.

Would the story ever reach Cora? Would it matter to her that he'd put a stop to things before they had progressed too far? Above all, did it make sense to push Cora away simply because he was so afraid to lose her?

Robert was surprised to find his hand being held between her two delicate hands. He smiled at her and cocked an eyebrow. "Well, if you find you cannot sleep in there, you are welcome to join me here. Though, oddly enough, I've had some difficulty sleeping myself."

"Hmm. That is very odd." Cora leaned closer to him. The smell of her perfume surrounded him, making him lightheaded. "Perhaps we should try both the beds and see which we prefer?"

"I think that is an excellent suggestion, my dear." He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her down onto the little bed beside him.

He had missed her so terribly. He had shut her out for too long. _How long?_ Robert realized that he'd been pushing her away since Matthew's death, thinking she didn't understand. That she couldn't understand. Why did he always insist on underestimating her?

CE—

Robert's mood was much improved the next day, though he received some news later that deflated him somewhat.

Cora was also in improved spirits and a bit of lunchtime information added to her happiness.

"I've spoken to Mrs. Collins, My Lady. Grantham House will be prepared to receive you the day after next. I have already forwarded your menu requests to Mrs. Whitman. "

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. I appreciate your efficiency."

"Mary will be thrilled." Edith could not help remarking. Rose glanced at her across the table. They had their own side bet going regarding London. Edith did not believe Mary would go to London, even if Thomas did manage to open the house without alienating the housekeeper and cook.

At the end of luncheon, Robert received his bad news. "The Dowager Countess has requested that you call on her this afternoon, My Lord." Mr. Barrow informed him as he exited the dining room.

"Thank you, Barrow." A chill went up Robert's back. Usually, his mother would come to Downton to chastise him. She must be angry indeed to demand that he come to her.

Cora offered to ride into the village with him and wait at Isobel's, but Robert told her it was unnecessary.

The Dowager House servants made themselves scarce as soon as Robert was shown into what he thought of as his mother's 'den'. Tea was already laid.

"Robert. Thank you for coming. Please have a seat." Her voice was all business, but that was normal for her.

The dutiful son, he sat opposite her; right in the line of fire. She began to make tea in the ritualistic way that had fascinated him as a child. Violet let him steep for a few minutes as she wet the tea. She began to speak several times, but then sighed and shook her head as though abandoning that line of thought.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Mama?"

She almost seemed startled to find him still there. She looked at him and simply said, "Make it right, Robert."

He dropped his head sadly. "I don't think I can."

"I would not have asked it of you if I thought you could not do it."

He had no response to this and so he remained quiet.

"As you age, the world will move more quickly and you will move more slowly. When you reach my age, Robert, you will find that you will value the constants in your life more dearly. Constants are the things that keep you from being swept away by it all.

"Family should always come first because it is the most fundamental constant. But there are other things and people in our lives that are almost as dependable. They have the added quality of being in our lives voluntarily, which makes them different from family and special in their own way. And then…"

She faltered here. Robert could tell that her thoughts were jumbled. She must be so disappointed in him that she could not even think straight.

"There is a special bond between servants and the families they serve. When Caroline Carson brought us her son…" Violet began to pour the tea now, trying to distract herself from the words. "I was only twenty-two and had not been at Downton more than a year myself when she brought him. Normally, I would not have bothered to meet the mother of a stable boy, but Dickens had asked that I see her.

"She did not want to part with him, but she was over five months pregnant and said they could not afford to feed and educate him properly." Violet handed Robert his cup of tea. Her hands were steady and the tea was perfectly made, as always.

"I promised her that I would look after him. This was the real reason I brought him into the house, though he did harass the dogs and the horses. I promised her… and then she was dead." The memory of that conversation was still crystal clear to her. She remembered a beautiful and delicate young woman to whom life had not dealt gently; a ghost who could never age.

Robert was not sure why she was telling him this. She had a far off look in her eyes and did not seem aware of his presence.

"But I forgot about him. Oh, I remembered from time to time, but I did not look after him as I'd promised."

"It was unreasonable of her to ask that of you." Robert assured her.

"Yes, of course it was. But I still gave my word. The truth is, in time, he looked after us better than we ever looked after him."

Violet remembered a particular day. It was a glum winter afternoon. Rosamund had been married several Seasons and was living in London, Robert was away at school and Lord Grantham was off on one of his trips. Violet was alone in Downton, not for the first time or the last. The young footman had delivered the evening paper to her in the library. She had already read the morning's paper twice and had reread Robert's latest letter several times. She did not enjoy novels.

When he returned a short time later with some tea, Charles had seemed restless and uneasy, which was remarkable in itself. Finally, she asked him what was wrong. "Begging your pardon, m'lady, it is very dark in here and I think perhaps you are hurting your eyes with all this reading. If I might suggest…that is…I could read to you."

Her first instinct was to scold him for an impertinent offer and to suggest that he was merely trying to shirk his other duties, but this was Charles and he was not likely to be impertinent or to shirk. He probably thought she was lonely and was taking pity on her.

The truth was, she _was _lonely. The house had been ungodly quiet all week. It was not a popular time for visiting in York, as the wealthy prepared for London and the less wealthy silently resented them from a distance. Also, there was no good gossip to be had from her maid. Perhaps being read to was not such a strange thing.

"Very well." She handed him the paper. "And skip all that Khartoum business. I got my fill of it this morning."

"Yes, m'lady." Taking the paper, Charles stood next to the window, ostensibly for the light. "There was fire at a distillery in Hardgate, Aberdeen…"

"Mama?" Robert's voice brought her back to the now.

"As I say, when you get older, you move slower." She tried to laugh it off but was obviously disoriented. As always, she recovered quickly. "Let me just get to the point, since neither of us are getting any younger. I don't know what you've done or what he's done and, frankly, I don't care to know. All I know is that family matters. And Carson is practically family.

"I don't need to remind you of what he did for your father." Robert's ears flushed red at the memory. Violet rushed on to reassure him. "I am not bringing this up to make you feel guilty, Robert. You were a young husband with a baby on the way. London was the best place for you and I do not resent your choice to remain there when your father sent for you."

Was Mrs. Carson right when she said that Carson had more right to call Downton home than Robert? His father's final years had been difficult to say the least. Carson had been his valet, recalled to Downton from London shortly after Robert had married Cora. Carson had cared for the ailing Earl more than his own children had. Not to mention…

Robert shook his head and rose to leave. "I am sorry, Mama. I know you must be disappointed in me, but…"

"Do not tell me what I must be, Robert!" Violet cut him off verbally, simultaneously grabbing her cane and blocking his exit physically. "I am frustrated with you _and _Mr. Carson at the moment, but I could never be disappointed in you. Even if your actions have not always pleased me, I am proud to say that I believe they have always come from honest motives; which is more than most of us can boast."

Robert sat back down and Violet lowered her cane. "I only bring up your father because…" But she could go no further. Ghosts would have to remain unappeased for the time being.

But Robert thought he understood her. "And you're sure it's not hereditary?" Robert asked quietly. There _was_ something else that could explain his erratic behavior.

"If the doctor's are to be believed." But she did not sound very reassuring.

* * *

**A/N- It's going to get a bit soapy in here as we hit the home stretch. The fur will be flying as I start picking off those plot bunnies with all the subtlety of a Gatling gun. Yee Haw!**


	36. Chapter 36

Charles and Elsie spent their first few days in Hull getting the lay of the land and exploring their options. Fredrick and Emily and the girls were truly glad to have them as guests. The girls were on winter holiday from school and were very eager tour guides. After one full day, Elsie was confident she could locate every candy store, dress store and toy store in the city center. Emily apologized to Elsie, "They are still trying to drop hints about what they want from Santa. But since we are all still pretending he exists, I can't tell them that Santa had his shopping done weeks ago."

"It's no matter." Elsie assured her. "Learning a city from a young girl's perspective is as good a place to start as any."

Charles insisted on going into the office with Fredrick on Wednesday. He did not think he could take another 'tour' of the city that happened to highlight pink frocks and a certain pair of shoes. Charles was eager to assess exactly how much he could contribute to the company.

Fredrick sat him down at a desk near a window with the ledgers from their past four years of wine importing. Fredrick reminded him that it was a relatively small part of the operation, but it had a huge potential for growth, if handled properly.

Within two hours, Charles had already spotted a major flaw in their current wine ordering system. Whoever had been in charge of this branch previously obviously did not understand how the seasons affected wine production or consumption. He had a recommended solution written up for Fredrick before lunch. If they followed his advice, they would save a considerable amount of money of shipping costs and storage fees.

Charles felt good. He was now confident that he could legitimately earn his keep here and help grow the family business. He had little doubt that Elsie would be equally successful here in Hull. The only cloud in his sky today was knowing Elsie was not just a bell's ring away. It was not as though they spent every moment of the day together at Downton, quite the reverse; sometimes meals were the only times he saw her. Still, it felt odd to know she was over a mile away. He reminded himself he would see her soon and she would tell him all about her day. Charles turned back to his desk and began organizing the contacts Fredrick had given him.

Elsie and Emily met Suzanne for lunch on Wednesday to discuss their ability to actually stage a New Year's party. A two week turn around was tight, but Elsie thought it could be done. "As you've already identified, our main problem is recruiting and training the staff. But you've already started that, haven't you?"

"We're all over it." Suzanne agreed. "I've a good group of lads and lasses all ready to be trained."

"Over Christmas?" Elsie wondered.

Suzanne laughed at the suggestion. "Obviously not. We'll have to start day after Boxing Day."

Elsie looked worried now. Four days was very different than two weeks. "But Mrs. Rask can handle the volume of food?"

"With a few extra hands in the kitchen the day before, she'll be fine." Emily confirmed.

"Well, that's a blessing, anyhow. We should discuss the menu with her as soon as she has the time. Also, we need to set our overall budget and determine how much we are proposing to pay people." The other two women had not thought of this. They really did need Elsie's thorough experience.

"I don't think we should pay anyone for the training session unless we use them on the event. There are plenty of people who will show up to be trained and then disappear when there is real work to be done." She was taking notes quickly in her fresh new notebook. Charles had given it to her that morning as they both dressed.

"An early Christmas gift for my enterprising wife..." He'd kissed her neck as he wrapped his arms around her from behind and presented her with the neatly lined, hardback notebook. "You had better succeed at this because I'd like to retire soon. And I intend to retire in style."

The memory of his joke made her smile, as did the inscription he'd put on the inside cover, "'If you have it, Love, you don't need to have anything else, and if you don't have it, it doesn't matter much what else you have.' J. M. Barrie"

Elsie hoped that Charles' day was going as well as hers. She couldn't wait to talk to him and reassure him that they were going to do well here in Hull.

CE—

Wednesday evening, Fredrick took Charles and Elsie to see the rooms at the warehouse. They had been built several years ago by an eccentric gentleman who did not trust his employees. He wanted to always keep an eye on his merchandise and had these rooms added into an existing warehouse. The rooms were spacious and covered almost half area of the warehouse. The workmanship was top notch, from the thick oak flooring to the large beams that ran along the ceiling. Windows had been added along the south wall to allow the natural light. Through and above the neighboring warehouses, there was actually a rather nice view of the river from the windows.

The flat was fully prepared for Charles and Elsie to move in immediately. They might want to add a chair or two, but the rooms were almost completely furnished with solid and serviceable items. Emily had sent over spare dishes and linens. A full kitchen and bathroom had been plumbed in as well. There was a small gas stove and a gas water heater in the kitchen.

Two stories worth of inside stairs climbed from a street door to their front door, which had the look of any other front door in the upscale parts of Hull. There was a white façade with pillars and a bright red door with brass numbering. Their door was located on a landing that overlooked the warehouse floor. From this landing, a small, metal, spiral staircase climbed up to the roof, which could be accessed through a small hatch.

"Is the roof ours as well?" Elsie asked as they were walking out of the flat.

Fredrick was surprised at the question. "It is not exclusively yours, but I don't think anyone really uses it."

"Can we look?" She asked. Charles was also surprised at her inquiry, but he was curious himself and nodded to Fredrick that he would very much like to look as well.

"Fine. Follow me." He led the way up the winding staircase. Charles waited until both Elsie and Fredrick were off the staircase before starting up. It looked solidly built, but there was no reason to take chances.

As he emerged onto the roof, he was hit with a cold blast of air. It was the freshest air he'd experienced in days. They were above the street smell of garbage and car exhaust and stale sweat. Up here, all you could smell was the river. While fishy, muddy salt flats might not smell pleasant to everyone, the freshness of the scent made it a welcome one to both Elsie and Charles who were not yet used to the smells of the city.

Just this one story higher, they could see over all the city and in every direction. Charles stood next to Elsie, looking west. The sun was just setting and it was breathtaking. Fingers of red sky reached out to them from the western horizon. Charles did think for one painful moment, _West, where Downton lies._

Elsie must have read his mind, for she squeezed his hand reassuringly. He smiled at her to prove that he was fine, _just a sentimental fool._

"What do you think, love? Shall we take it?" He asked, appraisingly.

"Well, the price is right." She sounded skeptical. Fredrick looked worried until she laughed and added, "And it's absolutely perfect. Thank you, Fredrick."

Relieved, Fredrick smiled. "You can move in tomorrow. Emily and the girls were hoping you'd stay with us until Christmas, but I'm sure you are eager to start setting up your own house."

"We are." Charles confirmed. "I hope they won't be too disappointed."

"They'll survive. But don't think you'll be able to escape the tree decorating or Christmas dinner. Emily may even insist that you stay Christmas Eve, but don't tell her I warned you."

As they headed back down the spiral stairs, Elsie called back to him. "I think we can handle that."

CE—

Robert stared out the train window at the frozen landscape. He hoped he was making the right decision. As anxious as he was to rectify things with Mr. and Mrs. Carson, he did not want to disrupt the family's Christmas plans. He did not want to risk ruining the Carsons' holidays either.

But he was determined that he would not talk himself out of doing the right thing. He had written himself a rather scathing letter reminding him of all the things he'd done, not just to the Carsons over the past month, but to anyone and as far back as he could remember. It had been quite a list. It had taken him the past two days to complete it. He kept the letter in his breast pocket to remind him that every accusation they'd leveled at him had been true.

Ironically, after putting all his worst points down on paper, when he remembered his conversations with Carson he could focus on the positive things that had been said. The thing that resonated most was how much his family needed him. It felt good to know he was needed. It gave him a sense of worth again. He was still important to this family. He was the head of this family. It was time he started to act like it.

When he looked up and saw Mary at the compartment door with George asleep in her arms, he was glad. She thought she had finally cornered him, but he would not have run, even if he could have. He opened the door for her and she entered the compartment.

"I hate to use my son in this shameful way," Mary spoke in a low, calm voice, "but I fear it is the only way I can guarantee neither of us will raise our voice." She stood before her father now, holding George. She held the sleeping child out to him. Robert took him, reluctantly. What if he held him wrong? What if the child produced one of those liquids that only children are capable of? He was asleep and safe at present, but Robert was still not entirely comfortable.

Mary smiled at the panic in his eyes. She had no need to yell at him, she had the upper hand. She sat down opposite her father and took a deep breath.

"I have come to negotiate a truce."

"If this is about Carson…"

"It is not." She cut him off curtly. "This is about us."

That surprised Robert no end. Every word she had spoken to him for almost a month was about the 'Carson Predicament' as he had come to think of it.

"I will not pretend that I am happy with how things stand between you and Mr. Carson, but you are both grown men and capable of recognizing the absurdity of this quarrel. Whether the two of you ever do so at the same time remains to be seen. But I am officially removing myself from that matter."

Robert was watching George dream, a small smile on his tiny face with an occasional twitch as though he were trying to speak. He kept his voice low so as to avoid disturbing the dream. "Then what is this truce you wish to discuss?"

"I miss my father." She said simply. "As stubborn and wrongheaded as he may sometimes be, I miss him terribly." Robert looked up at this frank admission. "And I need him."

"And he needs you, my dearest girl."

At his words, she was confused. "Then why have you been avoiding me?"

"Because I've only just reached this conclusion. I have not been thinking very clearly lately. Not since…" He was hesitant to mention Matthew. If Carson was right…

"…Since Matthew." She finished for him. She looked pained but continued on. "I think I can talk about him with you now. I was not ready before. It hurt me to think you might have wished I were dead instead, now that I'd given you an heir." Robert could only shake his head 'no'.

"I know it wasn't rational for me to think that, but I could not make the thought go away. Not when every other word from your mouth seemed to be 'Matthew'."

"I am sorry that I didn't understand that sooner. You were jealous of Matthew and I was jealous of Carson. He tried to tell me, but it all just hurt too much."

"Carson has helped this family through so much. Of course I would turn to him. I do love Carson, but I only have one father."

"But the fact that you needed Carson at all made me feel like I failed you as a father. My own father was gone so often and even when he was around, he left my rearing to the nannies, governesses and Carson. After I turned twelve, I sometimes felt that Carson was all I had. Did you know he taught me to shave?"

Mary shook her head. Her father had never spoken to her about his childhood.

The hand that was not holding George touched his cheek as Robert remembered. "He found me with a straight razor one morning. I'd stolen it from my father's room; an old, dull razor my father never used. I'd already cut myself several times by the time Carson found me. Once I convinced him I was not trying to kill myself, he agreed to show me how it was done properly. That very afternoon, there were two nearly identical shaving stations set up in my room; a bowl, a mug and brush, a mirror and a razor. But one razor had a mother of pearl handle; the other was made of dinted tin.

"He showed me how to hone the blade and test it. He taught me the secret of a good lather and how to shave with the grain to avoid irritating the skin. He even let me use his aftershave.

"I came down to dinner that night so proud of my clean chin. Rosamund was the only one who noticed, but she didn't say anything."

Mary gave her father a knowing look. "You weren't just jealous of Carson, Papa. You were jealous of me."

This thought had not occurred to Robert. He had been gratified and relieved when Carson had decided against leaving Downton for Haxby. But he wondered if he had ever really forgiven Carson for choosing Mary over him in the first place.

"Well, he didn't teach _me_ to shave. But he is still the best reader of children's stories I've ever heard." Mary moved over to sit beside her father now. She took George from him and held him in her lap. Robert could now put his arms around them both. "I am sorry Grandfather was not there for you, but Carson didn't fill a void in my upbringing; he was another source of support. I am afraid you both quite spoiled me."

"But he helped you when I couldn't. You could turn to him when you couldn't come to me. When I was in Africa…"

"You were doing your duty. And you were still present in our lives. Both Mama and Carson talked about you every day. We heard your name more often when you were gone than before you had left. I understood about duty, even then. I knew that you weren't just my father; you were the Earl of Grantham. Sometimes I just couldn't talk to _him_ because…"

"Because you weren't a son. I am sorry that I never understood how I made you feel. I wish you could be Earl of Grantham, my dear. I am sure no one could ever be a better Earl than my daughter."

"You can keep the title, all I ever wanted was Downton. Besides, I don't think I should much like wearing all those suits."

They chuckled and Robert held his daughter; rocking gently with the motion of the rails as the train rolled on towards London.

CE—

"I'll carry you over both thresholds, but you are on your own for the stairs, dear wife." Charles informed her as he unlocked the street level door.

They had left Fredrick and Emily's very early; before breakfast. Neither had much of an appetite due to the excitement of having their own rooms and officially beginning their life in Hull. Charles would need to be at the office shortly, and Elsie had a list of things she needed to do in preparation of the New Year's party, but they had at least an hour to enjoy their new home.

Carson set their suitcase inside the door and came back for his wife. Trucks and workers were already going about their business, but no one spared a second look for the couple as Charles kissed her and swept her over the threshold. They practically raced up the stairs. Elsie won easily, as Charles was carrying the suitcase. By the time he reached the landing, she had unlocked the door and was waiting patiently.

The warehouse was not active yet. The huge building was all theirs. It reminded them both of the stillness of Downton early in the morning or late at night, when they knew they were the only souls awake in the great house.

Charles walked through the door and set the case down. Elsie looked after him and continued to wait, though less patiently. He looked around and gave a satisfactory nod before turning back to her. "It's only missing one thing."

"A wife, perhaps?" She suggested.

"That's it! But where am I to find one at this time of morning?" Her crossed arms and stern look told him she was done playing.

"Very well, love." He picked her up easily. His strength always astonished her. She placed her arms around his neck as he carried her into their flat. "Welcome home, Mrs. Carson." He did not set her down after they kissed, but instead looked around. "Now, where was that bedroom?"

Her fingers were buried deep in his hair. "Straight back and to the right, Mr. Carson." And that is exactly where he carried her.

* * *

**A/N- It was completely by accident, but if the letter in Robert's pocket spawns a "My Name Is Earl" spoof, that would be okay by me. But I guess it should be "My Title is Earl". **


	37. Chapter 37

Charles met Elsie and Suzanne for tea on Thursday. As they sipped their tea, he was a little concerned about Elsie. She was uncharacteristically quiet and she looked overwhelmed. "We went to the market today to stock your pantry." Suzanne was telling him.

"I didn't know flour came in bags that small." Elsie admitted. What she did not say out loud was, _What am I going to do with flour? _She had not enjoyed the experience of shopping with Suzanne. Firstly, they had gone without a list, which started Elsie off on the wrong foot. Suzanne had grabbed things off the shelves in what seemed to Elsie a random fashion, but which she knew must be purposeful; a skill borne from years of practice. At first, Elsie tried to keep up with the energetic woman and her explanations, but she had eventually given up all hope.

"Apparently, Mrs. Carson is used to buying things weeks in advance and by the case load." Suzanne teased her. "And from a list!" This was the part that made the jolly woman laugh the most.

Charles bit his tongue. Suzanne probably did not understand that Elsie was not a cook. Although she undoubtedly recognized all the ingredients, Elsie really had no idea what to do with most of them. She usually just went off the list that Mrs. Patmore gave her.

Charles remembered an argument she'd had with Mrs. Patmore about the difference between Cream of Tartar and Tartar Sauce. He recalled Beryl yelling at her, "And please explain how I am to make a meringue with _THIS?_" It was one of the only arguments he'd ever known Elsie to lose.

Suzanne was soon distracted; trying to recruit the waitress for their catering scheme. Charles leaned over to Elsie and whispered, "Just remember, love, I didn't marry you for your cooking."

"It's a good thing." She smiled gratefully. "I hope you like sandwiches."

"It so happens that I do." And to prove his point he finished off his tea sandwich with one bite and a wink. She wiped a bit of butter off the corner of his mouth as he chewed.

As they left the teashop Elsie gave Charles one last 'save me' look, but Suzanne had already grabbed her by the arm and was pulling her away. "Now, I'll introduce you to the butcher. And we can stop by the bakery, unless you were planning on making your own bread?" Elsie gave a weak shake of the head here.

Charles waved them off and then turned back to walk the short block to his office. Of course there would be adjustments for them both, but he was already looking forward to going home to that bizarre warehouse flat every evening.

CE—

The smells that met Charles as he climbed the stairs that afternoon were not very welcoming. For the first time, he considered the possibility that Elsie might burn the building down. He knocked loudly and opened the door. "I'm home!"

"Blast!" And a loud clatter came from the kitchen at the back of the flat. All the windows were open but there were some pockets of residual smoke in some niches of the ceiling.

Charles hung his hat by the door, but kept his coat on. It was quite chilly in the flat with all the windows open. He walked through and found her in the kitchen which looked like it had been ransacked. Elsie sat at the kitchen table with a posture that would have been comical if she were on stage. She was wearing an apron and her hair was beginning to fall. She looked like a defeated pugilist who had put up a good fight. "Not exactly the welcome I was expecting." He spoke from the doorway. He needed to gauge her mood before progressing further.

"Not exactly the welcome I was planning." She admitted, but she was smiling, which was a good sign. Charles stepped further into the room.

"And what was it that you were planning?" He could not even tell from the state of the kitchen what she had been attempting.

She waved her hand at the mess. "Can't you tell? It's supposed to be stew."

"I never would have guessed." He told her honestly. "Wasn't stew a bit ambitious for a girl from Argyll who burns porridge?"

"That's what I told Suzanne, but she insisted. She started everything, rattled off the final instructions and left." Elsie shrugged at the kitchen. "I can't even find where she put everything. And I was so flustered I couldn't remember if she said red wine or red wine _vinegar_. Do you think it really matters?"

Charles was pretty sure it did matter. He cautiously approached the stove. There were several pans still smoking on burners that had been turned off. A covered stock pot sat on a back burner on low heat. Using a cloth he moved the pans to the sink and ran some water in them. He returned to the stove and took the lid off the pot. Charles took a spoon from beside the stove and stirred the mixture. It _looked_ like stew, but the smell was more ambiguous. Bravely, he brought a bit of the broth to his lips and tasted. Elsie watched his every movement. His face betrayed nothing. He smiled at her and replaced the lid on the pot. "I believe she must have said red wine."

Elsie groaned and put her head down on the table. When she sat back up, he was relieved to see she was laughing. "Can you believe I actually flipped a coin?"

"After tasting that 'stew'? Yes. Yes, I can." He laughed with her at the absurdity of the situation.

"I can make us sandwiches." She offered.

"You've done enough cooking today, I think."

"You mean I've done enough damage for one day."

"I wouldn't say that. I think you could have done more. I think the meat from the stew might be salvageable. Do we have any eggs? I can cook eggs three ways."

"Now you're just boasting." Elsie pouted.

Charles laughed and started to take off his coat. "Give me that apron and go clean yourself up, woman."

"Why are you so cheerful about all this?" Elsie asked, suspiciously.

"How else should I feel? I just learned that my wife is _not _absolutely perfect at everything. It's actually a bit of a relief."

She threw the apron at him as she left the kitchen. "Daft man."

CE—

Somehow, he'd managed to save the stewed beef. The flavor was exotic, but not toxic. The meat was tender and the vinegar actually gave it a nice flavor. Charles hated to consider what was going on in the broth he had dumped down the drain. In addition to the meat, he'd fried two eggs each for them and had grilled some tomatoes he'd found in the pantry. The result was an improvised fry up.

He'd cooked many bachelor breakfasts in the years he was with Grigg and Charles had spent enough time at the Heaton's to know where Suzanne kept everything. She had set up their pantry in almost exactly the same way. He was surprised how easily it all came back to him. This cooking business was kind of fun when you were cooking for your beautiful wife instead of for a hung over grump.

Thinking of his beautiful wife, Charles smiled at the table where she sat. Elsie had reset her hair and was currently enjoying a glass of the red wine Emily had brought over as a housewarming gift. She looked very much recovered from her ordeal in the kitchen. She was enjoying watching him move confidently around their kitchen.

"Aren't you excited, Love?" Elsie asked him as he slid the grilled tomatoes onto their plates and set the plates on the table.

"Excited?" He couldn't think what specifically he was meant to be excited about. He turned back to the stove to turn off the burner.

"We'll be experiencing our first true 'weekend' the day after tomorrow." She joked with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Charles shook his head. "Every day is already a half day as far as I can tell. I cannot understand why anyone needs a whole weekend." He had tried to work a full day at Fredrick's office today, but they had kicked him out at five o'clock.

"Well, it's also the weekend before Christmas, so the crowds will be interesting to watch. We can find a good window table in a tea shop and observe the natives."

Charles finally removed the apron and joined her at the table with the rest of the bottle of wine. "That does sound nice. It could be interesting to watch."

He topped off her glass and poured wine into his own. "To our first meal together in our new home," he toasted.

"To our new home." They both drank deeply. She looked at the plate before her. "You are a man of hidden talents, my love."

"Not very hidden. You're just the only person who bothers to look."

They both picked up their utensils at the same time as they had done for so many years. She began to delicately cut her tomato. He tucked into his eggs voraciously. After they'd eaten for a bit, he looked at her. "If you can get away from Suzanne and Emily tomorrow, I'd like to have you to myself after tea tomorrow." Elsie liked the sound of that. "The office is closing even earlier than usual. And, apparently, tomorrow is pay day."

"Pay day? You've only worked three days, and that's counting tomorrow." She was starting to seriously doubt the work ethic of the people of Hull. Surely the rest of England did not run this inefficiently.

"They usually do end of the month payments, but I guess they move payday up for Christmas. Many of the employees rely on the bonus to buy last minute gifts." He took a sip of wine. "In any event, I don't expect to be paid much and I surely won't be getting a bonus. Things certainly do work differently out here in the real world, love."

"I suppose so. But how shall we celebrate your first pay day?" She had a few ideas.

"I'd like to set up a bank account." He said, seriously.

He had been more jovial and spontaneous in the last few months, but Charles Carson was still Charles Carson. Opening a bank account probably was his idea of a good time but she could not resist teasing him. "Do be careful not to get carried away with the festivities, love."

He took the criticism gracefully and smiled the way he always did when he conceded her point, but he continued as though she had not spoken. "And you must be there when I do open the account so we can include you."

She supposed he was right. "I am only meeting with Mrs. Rask and Emily tomorrow. It shouldn't be difficult to make it a short day."

"Good, it's a date. I know just the bank." They ate now in comfortable silence. The warehouse below them was already closed for the day. Honestly, Elsie could not remember hearing much noise when it had been in operation. She doubted she would have heard anything above the clatter she was making in the kitchen. When the food on their plates was gone, Charles cleared the table. He gave the plates a cursory rinse. "Shall we take the rest of our wine up to the roof and enjoy the last of the light? Fredrick brought us a pair of deck chairs today."

"That sounds lovely." The evening wasn't going so badly after all. Elsie was beginning to truly relax now that she knew they would not have to subsist on sandwiches.

CE—

Grantham House was a much merrier place than anyone boarding the train in Downton could have dreamed. The sight of Lord Grantham carrying George off the train had alerted everyone that something had changed. The bustling, dirty chaos of the great city soon pumped everyone full of hopeful Christmas spirit.

The only sour face amongst the happy family belonged to Edith. She had lost her bet with Rose and was now paying the price by wearing the traveling ensemble that Rose had chosen for her. There were only two rules. Rose could not purchase anything specifically for the outfit, but had free access to all the ladies closets in Downton. Also, Cora had to approve of the ensemble for propriety's sake.

Cora had rejected Rose's first offering, which had been comprised of Sybil's harem pants from before the war with a yellow maternity blouse from Mary and a pair of bright pink shoes that Rose had found in the back of Cora's closet. The shoes had to be from the nineties.

Cora nixed the shoes and the pants. But she offered a pair of clunky black shoes from the same era and a skirt of such a dark brown that it was almost black. The waist of the skirt was inexplicably orange. It had been sent to Cora from her mother many years ago. Cora kept it to remind herself never to take sartorial advice from her mother.

Cora made sure that all the ugliest elements of the outfit were easily hidden by Edith's coat. Edith's humiliation was to be kept within the family. She could wear a coat between the train and Grantham House. Cora did not want it to look as though the family was not taking their mourning seriously. To top off the outfit, Edith wore one of the Dowager's largest black garden party hats. If that didn't show that the family was in deep mourning, nothing would. With the coat on, Edith looked like a woman from 1896 about to enter a convent. Without the coat on, she simply looked deranged.

It was a silly thing, Cora knew, but they had needed some levity and this seemed harmless. Edith was being surprisingly good-natured about the whole business, but she was far from happy.

When they'd arrived at Grantham House, Mr. Barrow had been admirably nonjudgmental as he removed Lady Edith's coat. The family enjoyed one last laugh at Edith's expense as she sprinted up to her room. Cora made a mental note to thank Edith for being such a good sport. This, along with Robert and Mary's truce, had started their stay in London of on good footing.

Their first full day in London, Edith had taken Cora and Violet over to Liam's photography studio in the East End. The smell of chemicals was thick in the small room. A cot and a pile of clothes in the corner told them that he also lived here.

The ladies soon forgot to judge Liam's housekeeping skills when they saw the photos from the Carson's wedding. He had managed to truthfully capture people in candid and relaxed moments. The photos were so different from any wedding pictures any of them had ever seen.

The photo of Rose and Alfred had come out perfectly. "I am getting this one framed for Alfred for Christmas." Edith told Liam who laughed appreciatively.

"I wish I had time to tint that photo for you, Lady Edith. We could make Alfred almost as red as he actually was."

Of course, there were the obligatory posed shots, with Carson looking severe and Elsie looking as though she were about to burst out laughing at him. But Liam had also captured the couple in more tender moments; especially the moments in the church.

"Look!" Cora called out, pointing at one photo. "I think he's actually smiling in this one."

"I believe he is." Violet agreed. "And look at his one, during the exchanging of the rings. I believe this one is my favorite. The both look very happy." The truth was the couple looked as obliviously happy in the photo as they had been in the moment.

Cora turned to Liam. "I don't remember you taking any photos during the ceremony."

"Most likely, you didn't see me because I didn't use a flash during the ceremony. Lady Edith would have strung me up by my toenails." Liam smiled at Edith here, as she nodded her agreement. "And, with this little baby," he picked up a small rectangular box that was far too small to be a camera, "I could move around without disturbing anyone."

"But it's too small. How did you get such large prints from such a small camera?" Cora thought she knew a few things about cameras, but this was new to her.

"It uses a small negative film format. Enlargements happen in the dark room. They are still fairly expensive, but simple to use. The company that can make it available at a price the average man can afford is going to make a killing."

After a half hour, the ladies had made their selections and had ordered a few copies of their favorite photos.

"I'll send the rest of the prints over tomorrow, My Lady."

"Thank you, Liam. These are wonderful. You really do have a talent; a very artistic eye." He blushed at Edith's compliment. He was sorry that she would be leaving soon.

Violet was still intrigued by the little camera Liam had shown them. As Cora and Edith gathered the photos together, he was very happy to answer all her questions.

Soon, they were leaving his studio with the photos they needed for the wedding album. Mary and Rose were at the stationary store buying the actual album at that very moment. The next two afternoons were to be dedicated to putting the album together.

Liam ushered them politely out of the building. "And feel free to call with any more questions or if you need any more photos, ladies."

"What a nice young man." Violet observed.

* * *

**A/N Should be another post today...  
**


	38. Chapter 38

"Carson? _ Charles_ Carson? Son of_ David_ Carson?"

Charles nodded at each inquiry. How did this man know his father's name? Charles had made inquiries and had chosen London County and Westminster Bank for several reasons. His main reason was that he remembered this bank from when he was a child. His father and he had passed it on the way home from visiting his mother's grave during a rare visit home. His father had said, "If you stick to the schooling they can give you at Downton, you could be a clerk in a big bank like that someday, son. What a thing that would be; my son, a member of the middle class. I wonder what Lord Grantham would make of that."

It had changed names, since then, but he was told it had only been bought out, never ruined. He reasoned that any bank that had lasted as long as that and had weathered the war was sufficiently solid for his modest account. He was starting to wonder how stable they could possibly be considering all the frenzied activity he was currently witnessing.

The clerk had ushered them quickly to an office with a large, imposing desk. Charles always laughed at desks like that because of something the Dowager Countess had once said. Often upon returning from Mr. Murray's office in London, Lady Violet would often comment on the oversized desk of one of his partners. Once, she had exclaimed, "Someone with a desk that size is obviously compensating for something."

Through the glass windows of the office, Charles and Elsie watched a large group of bankers speaking heatedly in the corner of the bank's great lobby, occasionally gesturing in their direction.

"I did not know you had a reputation, Mr. Carson." Elsie was trying to make light of the commotion, but Charles could tell she was as uneasy as he was.

"Perhaps my days of robbing banks in America have caught up with me," he tried to return her levity, but failed.

"I knew that Vaudeville story was just a cover. I've seen you dance." He smiled despite his nerves.

"Don't make me laugh, woman. I'm so nervous I would never stop." He realized that they were holding hands very tightly. He relaxed his grip and patted her hand reassuringly.

Finally, a very old and tiny man began to walk towards the office. He was flanked by two slightly younger and slightly taller men. Charles and Elsie stood as the three men entered the office.

"I am very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Carson. My name is Jacob Pease." He extended his hand. Charles took it hesitantly, not wanting to let go of Elsie's hand for a moment longer than was necessary. Then, his engrained manners took over.

"This is Mrs. Carson." Charles introduced her as naturally as if they'd met the man at the park. Mr. Pease took her hand and kissed it courteously. He had very old school manners. Charles liked him almost immediately. Elsie looked less sure, but was obviously more at ease than she had been.

"Please, be seated, both of you. I must say, this is a very exciting day for me. You are something of a legend around here Mr. Carson, I don't mind admitting."

The confusion on their faces was clear.

"Some of the younger directors didn't believe you were still alive, but I was just starting as a clerk when your father established the account and I always had faith."

"My father has an account here? I was told that he died near penniless."

"Perhaps he did, I am not aware of any of that. I only know that he established an account in your name before he died."

"That would have been a very long time ago. He died in sixty-nine." Charles' mouth was dry as he spoke. "It must have accrued a good deal of interest." He tried to calculate the interest of fifty- two years. _Even on a modest sum,_ g_iven a conservative rate of 5%..._

"Yes, a good deal." Mr. Pease confirmed, consulting the ledger in front of him. "There were some rough years, but we've averaged just over an 8% return on your account. Though it began with only five, it's grown to over seven hundred." Charles heart leapt. Seven hundred pounds was over 6 year's earnings. A little windfall right now was a very welcome thing. He could see that Elsie would be secure if something happened to him. Maybe he hadn't ruined her life after all. And maybe, if they planned well, he would be able to take Elsie to Italy.

"He probably meant to add 5 pounds or so whenever he could but he died before he told anyone." Charles speculated to Elsie under his breath as the tiny man flipped noisily through the pages of his ledger. "It probably didn't seem like a sum great enough to tell anyone about." Then he remembered something Mr. Pease had said.

"You said I was a legend, Mr. Pease. What did you mean by that?"

"According to your father's information, we had expected to hear from you when you turned twenty-one. When you didn't show that first year, we continued to invest your account according to your father's initial instructions, assuming you were at sea. We didn't know much about your father, but he had the seafaring way about him.

"With each year that passed without seeing you, the clerks began to speculate what might have happened to you. Time and imagination being what it is, your legend grew. According to the active imaginations of our clerks, you've been all over the world, Mr. Carson; from India to Africa to China to Chile. And you were granted some truly glorious demises, from being slaughtered with Custer in America to being eaten by Pygmies to my personal favorite story of you joining a doomed Antarctic expedition. Most believed the likelier explanation that you drowned at sea, but a clerk's life can be dull and imagining you out in the world offered us endless entertainment."

"Well, I've not drowned and I've not traveled beyond Europe. I am sorry to disappoint so many people."

"Nonsense," Mr. Pease laughed. "We are very relieved you are not dead." His look became more businesslike. "I hope very much you've not come to close your account, Mr. Carson. Indeed, I am very hopeful that you will continue to invest with us. I believe we've been good stewards of your money in your absence." Mr. Pease laughed at what Charles assumed had been his attempt at a joke, but it didn't seem like a very funny joke. Clerks must live very dull lives indeed. The man was nervous underneath his smile.

Charles was flattered that they thought so highly of his account and he liked Mr. Pease's manor. His goal today had been to establish an account. That had certainly been accomplished. He and Elsie needed to discuss this development in any event.

After getting a confirming nod from his wife, Charles answered. "Indeed you have, Mr. Pease."

"Will you be making a withdrawal today, Mr. Carson? I can handle that for you, if you like."

"No, in fact, I had a deposit to make, but I think we will forgo that today." He thought of the pound notes in his pocket. "Perhaps we could start the paperwork to add Mrs. Carson to the account?"

"Yes, of course. That can be handled very easily. Are you sure you wish to make this a joint account, or should Mrs. Carson wish to open her own account?"

Elsie looked at Charles. She did not want to presume. Charles answered, "Of course, make it a joint account. Why would we not?"

"I was only asking, Mr. Carson. It is my job." The little man sounded somewhat defensive.

Elsie eased the slight tension by smiling and telling the banker, "I may open a business account at a later date, Mr. Pease, but, not today."

"Very well. I assume you've both brought your identification, since you were planning to open an account..."

Fifteen minutes later, the account particulars had been settled. Charles and Elsie rose. They shook Mr. Pease's hand again and exited the office and the bank trying to ignore the whispers that followed them out.

"That was just bizarre, Charles." He nodded his agreement. "Antarctica!? Honestly?" Elsie couldn't help but laugh out loud now they were back on the street. "They don't know how much you hate the cold. You'd have been more likely to join Stanley in the Congo than Shackleton in Antartica."

"Though I was never very likely to do either." Charles chuckled. "If you are craving adventure, how should you like to go on a shopping expedition, Mrs. Carson?" He patted his breast pocket that held his cash.

"Sounds dangerous, Mr. Carson. I have heard tales of an elusive pair of shoes that a particular little girl would very much like for Christmas. I think we might dare to track them down."

"You are a brave woman, my love." He offered her his arm and they set off towards one of the stores Annette had shown them during their orientation tour of the city.

They carried on that way for most of the afternoon. After they bought Annette the shoes her mother had told them she would not be getting for Christmas, they went shopping for Brittany. Elsie insisted on trying on a few coats. The girl in the shop thought they were an adorable couple, but perhaps a bit mad. When Elsie came out of the fitting room in one of the coats, Charles had stood from the chair where he'd been patiently and uncomfortably waiting. She addressed him seriously, "Mr. Carson, I presume."

He tipped his hat to her and said, "Yes."

Ultimately, she could not justify another coat, or hat, but Charles insisted on buying her some gloves. They also bought Brittany a small pair of lavender colored kid gloves and some books for Sybbie. They still had enough money left to enjoy a simple dinner so they began walking in search of a likely place.

"No wonder they can't work full days. Weekends are exhausting." Charles commented as they walked the crowded streets with other shoppers.

"And it's still just Friday night." Elsie reminded him. As they rounded the corner a marquee met their eyes. "Oh! 'The Yellow Claw'! I read that book. It was very good."

"I haven't been to a movie in ages." Charles' smile was almost childlike.

"Shall we, then?" Elsie asked.

"Why not?"

CE—

"Charles, you can't lay in bed all day. The Carsons are expecting us for tea." Elsie stuck her head in the bedroom door and chided him. She wore her robe and her hair was wet. "Emily hinted yesterday that we mustn't be late. Apparently, there is quite a surprise waiting."

"I do not accept your premise that I cannot lay in bed all day. Though perhaps today is not the day to test that theory." He stretched magnificently and smiled at her. "Tea is still over four hours away, so we've plenty of time. And you may not have noticed, but while you were bathing, I made coffee."

"Yes, thank you." She brandished her mug for him to see.

"Good, then I've done all I plan to do before lunch."

Elsie brought her coffee and sat next to him on the bed, watching her great bear try to burrow deeper in the covers to hibernate. "And what are we to have for lunch?"

"I am not hungry, but I might suggest one of those legendary sandwiches that you keep bragging about?"

Elsie laughed loudly at that suggestion. "Bragging? All I said was that sandwiches are all I can make; hardly a promise of anything legendary. Unless you think ham and cheese is somehow noteworthy?"

"If you made it, love, and it's edible, that will certainly be noteworthy." He rolled away from her swat towards the other side of the bed, his back turned protectively toward her. She finished her coffee and slipped into bed beside him. She tried to spoon his large body with her tiny one, but ultimately settled for draping her arm around his middle and resting her head between his shoulder blades. She loved to press her ear against his back when he talked.

"Just for that remark, you should know that I am on strike. I will not do anymore cooking and I will not get out of this bed until you do."

"Do you promise?" She heard/felt chuckle as he spoke.

"I promise." They lay there comfortably for a time, each thinking the other had dozed back to sleep. Finally, she stretched and brought her arm back from around him to trace the scar that ran across his left shoulder. It was almost exactly the length of the span of her hand. She had noticed it at Crawley House, but he had insisted it was not a story for their honeymoon. She wondered if he would tell her now.

"It's not really a story for Christmas Eve either." His low voice answering the thought in her head. He rolled back to face her. "But I will tell you, if you wish it."

She hesitated. He would tell her eventually. It seemed pointless to postpone it. "Please, love? I'd like to know."

"Very well." Charles sat up in the bed and scooted up to the headboard, the pillow propped behind him. She followed suit and nuzzled up under this arm. "Whenever I tell you, it's going to be anticlimactic, so I might as well tell you now. Of course, you are sworn to secrecy."

She laughed, but he looked down at her, "I'm serious, Elsie. This can go no further than this room. There are only two people alive that know all the details. You will be the third."

"You may depend on my discretion."

"Thank you." He seemed unsure of where to begin. "I was cut with a saber by the last Earl when I was his valet."

"What?" She pushed back from him and looked him full in the face.

"If you'll be patient, I'll tell you all about it." Charles waited for her to lean back against him. It was easier to remember without her distracting him.

"You knew the last Earl of Grantham." It was not a question and did not require a response. "But you didn't see him in his final years. He had a condition, undiagnosed at the time; a form of dementia. Most of the time, he was completely lucid. He was not forgetful or confused. He was completely himself. But he would have days where his personality was so altered that he was unrecognizable; he might cry like a child or scream like a banshee or laugh like a madman.

"It had been going on for a few years, but the incidents were rare and the condition was manageable. Finally, he attacked his valet, Mr. Logan, who subsequently quit. The Earl and Lady Violet asked Master Robert to move back to Downton to help with the estate and with his health. He and Cora had not been married long and were living in London. I was still with them, as His Lordship's valet.

"Robert refused to return. He and Cora were still falling in love and having a good time in London. Lady Mary had not been born yet. Lord and Lady Grantham did not fully express how bad things were. I don't believe he understood until years later, and even then, he didn't understand fully.

"The compromise was that I was sent back to Downton to serve as the old Earl's valet. The Earl knew me and seemed comfortable with me, even when he was in an altered state of mind. They knew I would not betray his condition to anyone outside the family. For the next three years, I followed him practically everywhere. There were clear signs that preceded his worst attacks; headaches, dizziness, confusion. By the end, I could predict a fit the day before it happened.

"During his fits he would sometimes mistake me for Master Robert, saying things like, 'I haven't been a very good father to you.' Or 'You must know that I'm proud.' Those were the occasions where he would cry a lot.

"It was around this time that the Earl publically began supporting the hospital. The family had donated the use of the building many years back, but now he started setting up the gift of the building and the money to run the hospital in perpetuity. It was a good cover story to explain why he went to the hospital so often and why Doctor Jameson visited the Earl.

"When he was himself, the Earl was grateful for all they were trying to do for him. He was not used to being dependent on other people. It was a very humbling experience for him. It made him think about others. When he was lucid, he was very much altered; kinder and more generous than before."

"And when he wasn't lucid, he attacked valets with sabers?" Elsie reminded him.

"He wasn't attacking me.

"He'd been fine for days; no warning signs, even. Perhaps I missed something, but I'll never be sure. You'll remember how the house used to be decorated, with old weapons and military regalia?" She nodded. "Well, he was walking in the upstairs hall when he saw Lady Violet descending the stairs. I don't know who or what he thought she was, but something snapped. He grabbed a saber off the wall and took off after her.

"Luckily, I was on the stairs below her and I saw him coming. The only thing I had time to do was grab her and cover her. Thankfully, the saber was dull and the Earl was old. The cut was not very deep. I was able to overpower him after the first blow. When I grabbed him, he crumbled and began to cry. I took him back to his room.

"We sent for the doctor and I waited with His Lordship. The doctor didn't think the cut needed stitches and he patched me up. He said we'd have to watch for signs of tetanus for a week, but that was it. It hadn't even bled enough to drip. My suit was ruined, but, other than that…

"So, you see, it's rather anticlimactic."

"I wouldn't say that." Elsie whispered. "What happened to the old Earl after that? Surely they had to institutionalize him."

"They made up a story about a stroke and put him in the hospital for two weeks until I was fully recovered. Then he was returned to Downton, but kept under lock and key. I became his jailer." This memory was the most painful.

"The disease was only of the mind. There was no way of predicting how long he would last. He was still relatively strong and healthy, until the incident. After he realized what he'd done and what he'd tried to do, he just wasted away. I think he willed himself to die.

"He died less than five months later. Lady Violet was terrified that the condition was hereditary and she didn't give up trying to find an accurate diagnosis, even after he died. A few years ago, she told me that she thought the London doctors she'd hired had finally identified the type of dementia he had. She said it was most likely Pick's Disease and that it was rarely hereditary."

"And no one else knows?" Elsie asked. Because if Lord Grantham had any idea…

"Only the Dowager and the two of us. Doctor Logan died long ago. Lady Rosamund and Lord Grantham knew some details about his illness, but knew nothing of the attack. I believe they were told that it was not hereditary. Other than that, they know nothing."

With his story told, Charles held Elsie and let her process what she'd heard. After a few minutes, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I am no longer on strike. Would you like a sandwich?"

He was grateful that she was not going to make anything big out of this. It had been years ago and he rarely thought of it anymore. He took her hand where it rested on his chest and kissed it. "That sounds lovely, dear, but shall we build up an appetite first?"

She liked the sound of that.

* * *

**A/N That's a lot of Chelsie for one chapter. We'll catch up with other folks tomorrow.**


	39. Chapter 39

Just after one o'clock on Christmas Eve, Charles and Elsie set out for Fredrick's. They left the relative quiet of their industrial neighborhood and joined the throngs of last minute holiday shoppers and street vendors. Occasionally, a ray of light would pierce the low winter clouds, temporarily blinding families rushing to visit relations before heading home to await Father Christmas.

At their destination, Charles and Elsie followed Emily into the parlor expecting to find the family decorating the tree. The tall, fragrant evergreen dominated the far side of the room, framed by the impressive windows. Uncle Timothy and the girls were there, but there were two additional, unexpected visitors.

"Tom! What on earth are you doing here?" Elsie ran to embrace him as he stood up from the floor where Annette and Brittany were competing for Sybbie's attention. "Why aren't you at Downton, with the family?"

"The family is in London for Christmas." He explained as he returned her embrace. "I had business at Downton, but made time to come over to visit today. We'll head back to London tomorrow and be there in plenty of time for luncheon."

Charles had reached him by now and he warmly shook Tom's hand. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he simply said, "It's good to see you." Acknowledging Timothy and Fredrick, he added, "And Happy Christmas to everyone."

"Yes, Happy Christmas." Elsie echoed, but turned quickly back to Tom. "And? How are things?" Elsie prodded Tom. Elsie was not about to stand on ceremony. People always said she was not a great gossip, and it was true, but only because being a gossip required distributing the information that you gathered. Elsie was excellent at procuring information. She was just not as prolific at spreading it. "How is Downton? How is the family?"

"I'll not lie; you would not be pleased with the state of Downton at the moment. With the family away, things are quiet lax."

"Anna will have gone to town with the family, surely." Tom confirmed this with a nod. "So, who is running Downton?"

"Mrs. Patmore was left in charge, but she and Daisy are visiting with Mr. Mason over the holiday. She left Jimmy in charge."

Charles looked up from making faces at Sybbie and exclaimed, "_Jame_s is in charge of Downton?" Sybbie clapped and laughed at his silly, indignant expression.

"They haven't burned the house down," Tom assured them. "But I suspect they are not accomplishing everything Anna was hoping they would."

Elsie put a hand on Charles' arm. He looked like he was going to start a patented Carson fit; the kind where he would puff up so large with annoyance that she half expected him to blow a button off his waist coat. "It is none of our concern now, love. Besides, Anna needs a legitimate excuse to tear into someone. They all think she's a push over, but she's made of sterner stuff. This will let her show them."

Charles did calm somewhat. She was correct, it was no longer their concern, but he could not resist asking, "And how is Mr. Barrow faring in London?"

"Better than anyone expected." Tom admitted. "He is keeping his head down and letting Mrs. Collins worry about the house."

Carson nodded with satisfaction and bent down again to give his attention to Sybbie, who, being left to her own devices, was currently untying one of Carson's shoes.

Elsie led Tom to a seat near the fire. "We are glad you are here, Tom. But you and Sybbie should be with the family for Christmas. Lady Grantham will be very sorry not to have you both there."

"Actually, Lady Cora is part of the reason I am here." Charles scooped up Sybbie and brought her to sit with them. "I have been sent by the ladies of Downton to deliver your Christmas gift."

As if on cue, Annette brought up a large, flat rectangular gift adorned with a large blue ribbon. She placed it on Elsie's lap, since Charles' was occupied.

"Shall we open it now?"

"I have been tasked with returning a detailed report of your reactions, so I think that would be best."

Brittany coaxed Sybbie back to the toys lying on the floor. Charles moved over to sit next to Elsie as she unwrapped the gift. The album was bound in white silk. On the cover, gold embossed lettering read, 'Our Wedding'.

Elsie began to flip slowly through the pages, her smile growing with each new image. "Oh, Tom. These are wonderful." Her eyes were wet with happy tears, reliving that joyful day and seeing the smiling faces of her friends she had so recently left behind.

"These are quite good." Charles admitted. He would not have believed it was possible to capture how beautiful Elsie had looked that day, but this photographer had come awfully close. "That fellow is quite good."

They both laughed at the pages of photos from the reception. Amongst some very silly group shots, the ladies had included an incongruously more solemn photo of the Crawley family. But it was surrounded by happy shots of laughing staff members and toasting townsfolk; effectively softening the severity of the image.

Elsie reached the last page; the photo of them exchanging rings. It was shot from behind Mr. Travis. Most of the congregation was slightly out of focus, but she could identify every silhouette. Neither Charles nor Elsie could speak. Finally, Charles just managed, "It's perfect."

A brown paper envelope was wrapped with the album. Tom pointed to it. "There are some extra copies of photos they thought you might want to frame or gift to others. And there are a few images that were too ridiculous for the album, but they thought you would enjoy."

"These, I have to see." Elsie handed the album to Emily who took it over to the card table so she could leaf through it for the girls and Uncle Timothy. As she opened the envelope, Elsie heard their appreciative sighs and laughs across the room.

She saw that there was a large reprint of the final photo from the album, but left it undisturbed. She would have that framed soon enough. Gently, Elsie shook the smaller photos out into her lap. Most were silly shots of the staff, goofing for the photographer. "Emily, there is an extra copy of the photo of the girls." She called.

"Lovely! I was going to ask. I don't think we've ever had a photo of just the two of them together where one wasn't crying, making a face or blurry. They don't sit well for portraits."

"There might be an opportunity for Mrs. Bird after all." Charles picked up a small print featuring Daisy, Ivy, Beryl and Mr. Mason. Daisy and Ivy were posing playfully in the foreground, arms around each other as though they were dancing. But the photographer obviously had other subjects in mind, for in the background, in perfect focus, a laughing Mrs. Patmore sat _very _close to an obviously smitten Mr. Mason. "Will you send it to her?"

"Only if there are multiple copies. She might try to destroy the evidence." Elsie wasn't sure if Beryl was interested in marriage, but Mr. Mason was so very different from Mr. Tufton, she would not discount the possibility.

"You can request additional prints of any of the photos. Lady Edith only has to make a call. I gather the photographer would do almost anything she asked of him."

"Really?" There was a story there, Elsie was sure of it, but she left it for now. The album was poured over again and Elsie secured the extra photos in the envelope.

"Now it is time for a Carson family tradition." Emily rose and pulled the bell chord. The parlor door opened and Strick came through with a large bowl on a cart. "We don't drink tea while we decorate the tree."

Fredrick jumped up to serve. "This is father's own recipe, Charles. It is light on the egg and heavy on the nog." He began ladling the viscous liquid into delicate crystal cups.

Soon, every adult had a cup of eggnog and the young girls had a splash of eggnog diluted with cinnamon milk. "To family and good friends. Happy Christmas!" Fredrick toasted.

"Happy Christmas."

A large box of ornaments was brought out from under the tree and opened on the card table. The girls rushed over. After some scrambling over their favorites, Brittany brought out the first ornament for the tree; a miniature pair of ballet slippers. Fredrick boosted her up so she could reach the perfect branch. She returned to the box for another ornament as her sister emerged with her favorite ornament, a little Scotty dog wearing a tam.

The family continued to adorn the tree in a practiced chaos. Even Uncle Timothy hung a few trimmings. Sometimes the girls would show Charles or Elsie their bauble and offer a quick back story before they placed it on the tree. "We got this one in London when father took us last year."

Charles was sipping the last of his eggnog when Elsie retrieved her handbag and withdrew two small bundles. The first appeared to be wrapped a man's handkerchief; the second in a ladies. Elsie began to untie the plain cotton package and handed the lacey parcel to Charles. He watched her unwrap a small copper bicycle with heart shaped wheels. The name 'Elsie' was woven in delicate silver wire into the frame of the bicycle.

Charles smiled as she held up the ornament. "I didn't know if you still had that."

"What else would I have done with the first gift you ever gave me? And such a lovely gift."

"But I haven't seen it; not even once, in all those Christmases."

"That's only because we didn't have a staff tree and you were not allowed in my room. I didn't keep it only for Christmas. It hung in my window year round as a reminder that you promised to always catch me." They both smiled at the memory. "Now, it's your turn."

The lace had been bound with a delicate red ribbon. Untying it, Charles found a silver, heart shaped locket. It was not a small locket, for wearing around one's neck, but large enough to cover half of Charles' palm. Engraved in intricate calligraphy on one side was the date, 'December 12, 1921'. On the obverse, were the initials 'C&E' and the phrase, 'Two as One.' Charles unclasped the locket and laughed.

"Wherever did you get these pictures?"

"It was part of a damaged staff photo I found at Downton. Lady Cora allowed me to salvage our parts of it."

Charles saw now that there were indeed shoulders pressed against his on either side in the photo. He remembered now; after Lord Grantham returned from Africa, Lady Cora had wanted family portraits. Since the photographer was there, someone had suggested taking a photo of the staff.

He looked at her young face and sparkling eyes then back at the starched and severe image of himself. "What could that beautiful housekeeper ever see in that dour faced butler?" Charles asked her.

She closed the locket and held it up before him as it twirled. "A kind and generous heart."

Charles was not inclined to argue with her. He and Elsie hung their ornaments side by side on the tree at eye level.

Tom stood nearby, examining the tree and all the ornaments, each with its significance to the family. He spoke to Charles and Elsie. "When Mr. Carson, that is, Fredrick, was kind enough to ask me to share your Christmas Eve, he told me you would be decorating the tree." Tom produced a small, velvet drawstring pouch, out of which he took a bundle of newspaper. Gently, he unwrapped a bicycle almost identical to Elsie's, but with round wheels.

"This was one of Sybil's dearest possessions, Mr. Carson. Would you kindly assist Sybbie in placing it on the tree?"

When he found his voice, Charles replied, "It would be my honor."

Sybbie had been watching the Carson girls and listening to their instructions to their father. As Charles lifted her to the tree, she ordered, "Higher." He obeyed. Sybbie hung the little copper bicycle on an empty branch so that an electric light shone behind it, catching the silver inlay which read "Sybil".

Elsie smiled at Tom who had stepped back to observe the scene. He smiled back with a small hint of sadness.

Mr. Carson squatted next to Sybbie after setting her down. They looked up at the tree very seriously in unison; his great large face even with her tiny doll-like features.

"That's a very fine branch, my girl. Well placed." She smiled proudly at his approval. Impulsively, she grabbed him by one ear and the tip of his Roman nose and kissed him lightly and naturally on the cheek. Elsie was glad she still had the handkerchief in her hand.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and everyone was disappointed when Tom announced that he an Sybbie must leave to catch the last train back to York and on to Downton.

Tom and Fredrick had been engrossed in business talk for much of the time. Fredrick was fascinated with the challenges Tom was facing on the estate with the new laws. "But what are your loopholes?" Fredrick finally asked him.

"The what?"

"Loopholes. Those that write the laws leave little outs as favors for their friends or for themselves. It's for the rest of us to find them and exploit them."

Emily rolled her eyes, "Fredrick thinks it's a game."

"Make no mistake, love. It is a game. And one that can pay great dividends if you play it well."

Uncle Timothy jumped in here, "And our Fredrick plays it well."

"I learned from the best, father." Fredrick tried to act humble, but he was greatly pleased by this praise from his father. "That's why I pay myself almost no salary and work out of the house two days every week. I can charge a portion of the house budget to the company."

"Is that legal?" Tom wondered.

"Of course. If I were trying to smuggle merchandise into the country and not pay tariffs, that would be illegal. But I'm following the letter of the law. If the law didn't allow it and encourage it, I wouldn't do it."

"I hadn't even considered." Tom admitted.

"With the capitol taxes, Lord Grantham should consider gifting his daughters with at least part of their inheritance now, when the penalties are so much lower." Emily and the girls all let out simultaneous, exaggerated yawns.

Fredrick laughed at them. "My kind and loving family is reminding me that this is deadly boring to them. If you have time after the New Year, bring the Downton books by my office sometime. I'll show you what I am talking about. I'll read up on the estate laws this week."

"You don't have to do that, Fredrick." Tom protested.

"Nonsense." Emily assured him, handing Fredrick a refilled cup of eggnog. "He'll enjoy it. My husband is a little disturbed that way." She kissed Fredrick on the top of his head to show that she loved him, despite his malady.

"It is a bit of an obsession," Fredrick admitted, "but it is a lucrative obsession."

"Which is why we tolerate it." His wife reminded him. "But not at Christmas."

But now the time had come for Tom and Sybbie to return to Downton. The Carson girls fussed and Tom's hand was shaken repeatedly.

"Thank you for coming." Charles was walking Tom to the railroad station, carrying a sleeping Sybbie. "And please thank the ladies for the album. We shall treasure it always."

"I will tell them, though I think you'll be seeing Lady Mary soon. She said something about wanting to visit you after the New Year."

"She would be most welcome." They walked on in silence for a bit. The streets were darker now and the crowds all but gone. "How is she? Honestly?"

Tom considered. "George is looking more like Mr. Crawley every day, which is difficult for her, I think."

"It can't be easy to have that constant reminder." Carson noted. "As well you know."

"Yes. It is difficult, but eventually you realize that it is better than the alternative, which is to forget."

"But Lady Mary has yet to reach that point?" Charles asked.

"She is doing better now. It was bad right after you left, but something happened on the train to London. Lady Mary and Lord Grantham seem to have mended things between them. He is still very quiet, but they are both much improved since going to London."

"I am glad to hear it." They'd reached the station. The train whistle woke a grumpy Sybbie, but Tom assured Carson that the motion of the train would soon put her back to sleep.

"Give our love to the family…Tom." The name still felt odd, but Charles knew that calling him Mr. Branson would hurt his feelings.

"I shall. I hope to see you soon, Mr. Carson." Perhaps next time Tom would risk calling him Charles, but for now, it was enough that the former butler was calling him Tom. _Change comes in small steps, not great leaps_, Sybil had tried to tell him. She had been right.

CE—

Christmas morning at Grantham House was subdued, but cheerful. George was soon drowning in more toys than any child could have time for in a month of Christmases.

"What is it, Mama?" Robert looked at the contraption in his hand.

"It's a camera. A new film format or something. Thirty-four millimeters or something. Don't ask me, I can't remember. It's rather a new technology. You can carry it about easily and the film is much smaller but the lens is better than those Kodaks. It's easier to focus, or so I am told. We've arranged for some lessons for you.

"There are a few places here in London where you can send the film, or you can set up your own laboratory by the stables somewhere, if you want to develop it yourself. Now we don't need those loud and smelly photographers when we want a picture of George or Sybbie."

"Thank you, Mama." For the first time in a long time, his curiosity was piqued. He had actually enjoyed watching the photographer at the Wedding Breakfast. Now that Robert thought back, that lad had something very similar to this.

Edith came over to the couch where they were sitting. "Liam, the photographer from the paper, has offered to give you some lessons if you like. Here is his information in London. He can meet you almost anytime, with enough notice."

"But what am I to take pictures of besides the children?" Robert's enthusiasm cooled somewhat. _How many photos of the same child can you possibly need?_

As planned, Isobel now joined the conversation. "We rather had the idea that someone should be documenting all these great houses before they are torn down. It's such a shame that all that English architectural history is disappearing. You'd be doing a great service and getting to see so much of England." Violet gave her a grateful nod. Isobel had almost managed to make the idea sound interesting. Maybe Robert would take the bait.

That did sound intriguing, but one thing bothered him. "Why do I get the feeling that you all want me gone?" He looked around at them all, as they surrounded him. Were they ganging up on him again? Should he tell him what he had resolved to do about the Carsons? Only Cora and Mary knew at present.

"We don't want you gone, my dear." Now Cora looked up from where she sat with George. "We want you happy and you are not. Perhaps a hobby would help. If you want company, I'd be glad to go with you."

"I am sure there are enough houses in trouble near Downton that you won't have to travel much if you don't wish to." Violet noted. "Yorkshire has quite as many fine, abandoned relics as anywhere in England."

"And any of us would be happy to accompany you, Papa." Mary informed him.

He saw that it was true. Faced with their earnest concern, Robert felt even guiltier about how he his failure to patch things with Carson was affecting them all. He planned to rectify that very soon after the New Year. In the meantime, he could at least give their idea a try. "I have heard that Stanwick Hall has already been stripped inside and is on the block for final demolition. Perhaps I could write and request a tour before it is gone. Though I'll need those lessons first."

* * *

******A/N- Sorry for the wait. House guests are gone now. This story will now get my full attention until it is complete.**

**If you have read 'Training Wheels' the bicycle ornaments will be familiar. If you have not, and you are curious, I recommend you check it out. And I hope to add an epilogue to that story after this story is complete. **


	40. Chapter 40

The Crawley family decided to attend a Boxing Day panto. George was being fussy as the family waited for Robert and Tom to return with the tickets. Violet watched the squirming child. "Why did we bring the baby, again?"

"Because we only have one nanny, Mama. And Mrs. Collins will have an easier time cleaning up after our Christmas festivities if we are all out of the house. Things are different here from Downton." Cora reminded her.

"Well, that almost answers my second question which is 'why am I here?' But it does raise a third question. Rosamund, why are _you_ here?"

"And it's lovely to see you as well, Mama. Oddly enough, I was invited to this family occasion. I've always enjoyed a good panto. This production is already getting rave reviews, even this early in the season. Aladdin always was one of my favorites." Violet looked at her knowingly, waiting for the true reason. "And I happen to know several people who are planning to attend."

"Ah, one of your London society events. And is baby George to be one of your accessories? He's not even four months. He'll just sleep or cry through the whole thing and he won't get any enjoyment from the antics on stage."

"That sounds like someone else I could name, Mama." She teased, as Robert and Tom returned and began to lead them to the theatre entrance.

"You are always impertinent, Rosamund, but around the holidays you are almost insufferable."

Robert and Rosamund exchanged commiserating looks that only siblings can share. "She always did hate the idea of children in a theatre," Rosamund commented as Violet was ushered down the aisle in front of them. As they followed, she whispered quickly, "I won't hound you because I know how you are, but please tell me you are going to make things right with Carson. Even though I am here in London, just knowing he isn't at Downton seems to throw everything off its axis."

"It will be handled, soon. I promise." He wasn't quite sure how it would be handled, but he and Mary were working on it.

"Good. You sit next to Mama and make sure she doesn't boo the hero this year. I'd almost believe she does that on purpose."

Robert chuckled, "I'd swear to it."

CE—

Charles and Elsie watched the Boxing Day chaos from their table in Mrs. Charlotte's Tea Shoppe. The crowds were denser and decidedly less friendly than they had been on Christmas Eve. Later in the day, they were meeting the Heaton's for an early supper. Elsie and Suzanne needed to square a few things away before they were swept away in the preparations for the New Year's party. But Charles had suggested they spend some time in the heart of the city.

"Of course, I'm willing to help, if you need, love. But I doubt very much you will need my assistance. You've always been a better teacher than I. My talents were more on the disciplinary side of matters."

"You are selling yourself short, Charles. Perhaps after we have a few events under our belt, you could offer some suggestions?"

"I would be happy to do whatever you wish." Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the crowd on the street beyond their window. "Look at that poor fellow." A young man, who could not have yet been thirty, was trailing behind a beautiful young woman. He was piled high with boxes and draped with bags. His hat was askew and one of his shoes was untied.

Elsie laughed and shook her head. She laughed harder as the woman made a sharp turn into another store. The young man's day was far from over. "What some men will do for a pretty face." She mused.

"And gladly so, my love." He tapped her foot gently with his. "You know he considers himself the lucky one."

"And so does she, by the look of it." Elsie shook her head. The haughty girl reminded her of Lady Mary before Mr. Crawley broke her heart the first time. She shook this thought away and returned to her main objective of the afternoon; to flirt shamelessly with her husband. Her foot found his calf under the table.

But Charles wasn't paying attention. A small group of dingy children were following a harrowed looking woman against the general flow of the shoppers. Each of them carried a bag which he assumed contained the holiday washing of some affluent family.

Poverty was something with which Charles had personal experience, but he could avoid the constant reminders, sequestered as he had been at Downton. Even in London, his time off was so brief he was generally in too much of a hurry to register the urchins and beggars.

Things were different in Hull. Since arriving with Elsie, he felt as though he'd had nothing but free time. And yet, Uncle Timothy was insisting on paying him what he considered an obscene amount of money, insisting that he was earning it. Hull was a prosperous town, with nowhere near the numbers of poor or depth of poverty one would experience in London. Maybe that was why it bothered him more, the problem seemed so unnecessary here.

Another reason the sight of these families touched him was knowing that many of them had lost their main providers to the sea, as Charles had lost his father.

"Charles?" She followed his eyes and saw the family. The irony that the washerwoman's children wore the dirtiest clothes she'd ever seen was not lost on Elsie.

He looked back at her and patted her hand. "I am so proud of you, my love. What you and Suzanne are planning will help families just like that."

"But I need skilled people, Charles. I am not running a charity."

"They don't want charity; just a chance."

"Well, we shall certainly give them that."

Now, Charles became aware of her foot on the back of his leg. "Are you done with your tea then?"

She smiled and nodded.

He put some coins on the table and escorted his wife out the door, already plotting out the shortest route home in his head.

CE—

"That was one of the better versions of Aladdin I've ever seen." Cora looked up from her tabloid as Robert entered the bedroom.

"Yes, I particularly like how he locked Arsenal into the enchanted cave." He laughed. "As though Tottenham needed any help."

"I can't even pretend to know to what you are referring, Robert." _Men and their sports._ "We should talk to Mr. Barrow about returning to Downton. I'd like to be home before New Year's Eve. London is so tiring this time of year."

"And I need to make my plans to visit Hull after the new year."

"Have you thought about what you will say?"

"I've thought of little else since we came to London." He still wasn't sure about what he was about to do, but it felt right. "I thought I might practice by apologizing to you."

"Do you want me to be Mr. Carson?"

"No, I want you to be Cora Crawley."

"I think I can do that." Her words were teasing, but her tone was serious. What did he want to apologize for? Knowing his personality, he wanted to talk about every transgression he'd ever committed. She definitely did not want to go down that path.

Robert felt his letter in his robe pocket. He thought of telling her about it, but something stopped him. Did he need to open up old wounds? "I am ashamed of how I have acted this past month. You kept a level head and acted with the maturity and compassion that I could not. Please forgive me for placing the burden of properly celebrating Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' wedding on you and the girls. My behavior was not what it should have been."

"Would it surprise you to find that I am not suffering under the illusion that you are perfect, Robert?"

"No, but it does disappoint me a little." He admitted, removing his robe.

"I love that you hold yourself to such high standards, Robert, but sometimes you go too far. Don't beat yourself up because you are human. It doesn't all have to be so damned dramatic. You Brits look at life like a Shakespearean tragedy where the otherwise brilliant character is destroyed by his one basic flaw. I, for one, would be happy to find that I had only one flaw.

"I think life is more like Mr. Twain writes it; a series of ridiculous events in places populated by ridiculous people. Those who can embrace the absurdity of life seem to fare better than others.

"If there is something specific that you need to tell me, Robert, I shall listen. But you should know that I've already forgiven many things for which you've not asked forgiveness; as you've forgiven me. That's what a relationship is." She kissed his cheek as he settled into bed.

"Thank you, my dear. I doubt Mr. and Mrs. Carson will be as accommodating as you."

"They might surprise you. You don't have to do anything grand, dear. Just be honest. It should be a rather easy business; apologizing to someone who wants so desperately to forgive you." She set aside her reading and turned out her light.

Robert turned off his lamp as well. After a time, he asked the darkness, "But what if they won't come back? Tom says they are doing very well and that Carson's family is delightful."

"It isn't about getting them to come back. It's about mending one of the oldest friendships in your life. The rest is secondary. If they are doing well, we will be happy for them, and leave the door open. There is nothing else we can do." She cuddled up to him and he put an appreciative arm around her.

"We should have held Mrs. Hughes for ransom when we had the chance."

CE—

The morning of December 31st, Elsie and Suzanne took their freshly trained staff to a local bath house to clean and dress for the day. Some of the staff took several rounds of clean water to meet Elsie's standards, but ultimately, they were up to snuff. Before beginning their work, they all enjoyed a quick luncheon in Emily's downstairs staff hall.

In the kitchens, the supplemental kitchen maids had already been put to work by Mrs. Rask. After lunch, the rest of the temporary staff headed to their assignments. Under Mr. Strick's observant eye, silver was polished and trays were prepared for the evening. Elsie handed her girls over to Emily's housekeeper, Mrs. Trenton, and headed upstairs to check on the decorations and other details.

An hour before the guests were scheduled to arrive, Charles accompanied Fredrick home from the office and came in to wish Elsie good luck. "You could stay." Elsie reminded him.

"This is Mr. Strick's house, I would not presume to help."

"As a guest, I meant."

"We've talked about this. That's not a good idea. I wouldn't know how to be a guest at an event like this. I'd be a distraction. This is your night, love. You can tell me all about it tomorrow morning. But tonight, Nathan and I will go out to a pub and brag about our amazing wives."

She knew he was right, but still felt a twinge watching him leave. She was used to having him beside her at events like this. But they were not coworkers anymore; they were husband and wife. She didn't have to consider for even a second to know which arrangement she preferred.

The guests started arriving soon after Charles left and Elsie did not come up for air until she saw her staff off home with her thanks, their pay and a promise of more work to come.

Elsie reached their flat around three in the morning. Fredrick insisted on sending Mr. Gordon to drive her and Suzanne home. She found Charles asleep on the couch, a plate of sandwiches in front of him. To his credit, he had left a few for her.

He stirred as he heard close the door. He watched her taking off her coat. "A rousing success then? Shall we be reading about it in the society page tomorrow?"

"Probably for several days! Oh, Charles, everything exceeded all my expectations. I wish you had been there."

"We agreed; I would have just gotten in the way. You needed to watch the staff and connect with your potential clients."

"You are probably right. I could not be prouder of the staff. We gave out all of our cards and have already booked three more events for January. They aren't very large, but the goal is to get some steady work for the lads and lasses. We might even need to train a few more people so we can handle multiple events on the same night."

"That's wonderful. I had no doubt it would be a success, dear. When the event is right, I'll definitely come. You know how much I enjoy watching you work. Shall I put the kettle on?" He offered, but did not move a muscle.

"Don't bother. I'll be asleep before the water boils." She watched as his eyes started to close again. Instead of heading into the bedroom, she just went to the couch and said, "Budge over, love."

Charles obligingly created just enough space on the couch for her to join him and enfolded her in his arms as she lay down. In a few breaths they were both sound asleep.

CE—

Elsie awoke alone on the couch many hours later. She was stiff from sleeping on the couch and in her corset. She followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen, but Charles was nowhere to be found. His mug was not on its peg over the sink.

Elsie took a cup of coffee into the bedroom to change into her nightgown and robe. Still, there was no sign of Charles. She checked the other rooms, pausing to smile proudly in the office. They had agreed to only exchange small gifts this Christmas, each coincidentally buying a fountain pen for the other. But when they had arrived home from Fredrick's on Christmas evening she had found her real gift; her own desk. Charles had arranged with Nathan to have it brought up to the flat while they were out.

Her desk was smaller than his, but fit the room perfectly. He had insisted that it was not a Christmas gift, but a necessary piece of household furniture. She loved it, regardless. She was used to having her own desk and had not been keen on sharing one with Charles. He probably felt the same way. She did note that, in buying her a desk, he had secured a desk of his own, so she didn't feel badly about not getting him a larger gift.

After checking the entire flat, she realized that the front door was slightly ajar. She should have seen that the second she woke up, but the coffee had smelled so alluring, it had escaped her notice. Sticking her head out the door, she saw that the roof hatch was open.

On the roof, Charles was reclining in one of the low deck chairs Fredrick had given them. "Oh, you're up then?"

"I was expecting breakfast to be ready." She sat on the edge of his chair. He scooted over to make room for her.

"And I was expecting my entrepreneur wife to offer to take me out to a hotel for breakfast."

She laughed at this, "Charles, entrepreneurs don't have any money. Not this early in the process."

"Well, then we shall have to settle for leftover sandwiches because we are out of eggs and I cannot cook anything else." He produced the plate of sandwiches from behind the chair, smiling charmingly. "I shall be happy to take you out for a spot of lunch, but first, I want to know all about last night."

Around mouthfuls of sandwich, she recounted her triumph of the previous evening. They drank their coffee as the sun rose on 1922.


	41. Chapter 41

Seven o'clock is the most difficult time of day. He is done with his job at the shipping office. He is comfortably at home. The warehouse below them has grown quiet.

But his mind is telling him, there is a gong to be rung, there are wines to be poured, he should be changing into his tails now. The family will begin to gather, perhaps with a cocktail, waiting for him to usher them into dinner. He still can't eat properly at eight; he never could when the family was away. It always reminded him that they were out of his reach, away from his protection. He knew they weren't his family anymore, but the anxiety visited him nonetheless. Charles hoped that Elsie could not tell. She was so happy here. And so was he, most of the time.

Elsie had no problems eating early, though she did get restless in the afternoons when her work was lightest. At Downton, she had rather enjoyed having the early evenings when the family was in London for the Season. Turning in early and reading his letters had been her only consolation for having him gone so long.

Her days in Hull consisted of visiting clients and planning things with Suzanne, neither of which took very much of her time. Suzanne was also trying to give her some cooking tips. Elsie was not too interested in the cooking lessons, but played along to kill some time. Both she and Charles could make a decent stew now; they just needed written recipes.

Charles had suggested employing one of her recruits as a part time cook and housemaid. The two of them did not make much of a mess, but he was adamant that she would not have to dust. "You haven't had to dust since you became housekeeper. We can afford to have someone in once or twice a week. And if they left us something in the oven when they left, it would be a nice change from our rotating stews." Elsie actually had a woman in mind. She had several children and a husband who'd been injured on the docks. This would be the perfect, flexible job for her.

Weekday mornings, after walking with Charles to the office, she would stop by the library. They had community boards for listing upcoming events. She had posted a flyer announcing their new business. Usually, Elsie also took some time to peruse the periodicals or find a new novel.

One day, she met Charles for lunch and one evening they met up at Suzanne and Nathan's for dinner. Their routine was coming together very satisfactorily. The only problem was seven o'clock.

On the evenings when they were home by seven, she tried to distract him around that time, but doing so subtly was becoming more difficult. He had noticed her attempts, but did not complain. Some had been quite creative.

This night, they were reading separately on their little couch, their legs entwined, reminiscent of other times on her settee at Downton. She watched him over the top of her novel. He had not turned the page of his own book in minutes. His eyes were not even focused on the words. His mind was miles away. The clock had just chimed seven and she noticed the way his hand twitched as though ringing the far off gong. One last distraction and then they would need to speak frankly.

She sighed dramatically and closed her book. He looked up at her over his own book with concern. "Is there something wrong, my love?" He closed his book without marking the page. He hadn't been paying much attention to the story anyway.

"You've forgotten what today is." She crossed her arms and pouted mightily at him.

"And what might today be?"

"Well, if I have to tell you…" She struggled to keep a calm countenance as she watched him run down the list in his mind, starting to look quite concerned.

Finally, he shrugged. "I am afraid I do not know. Robert Burns day is in January, is it not?"

She almost lost her composure at this desperate stab, but continued on to her end game. "It's on the 25th, and yes, you will be eating haggis, but that is not what I mean." She arched her brows at him very seriously. "Today is our three week anniversary. And you forgot it."

He relaxed now, "Elsie, there is no such thing and you know it." He was planning to make quite a to do about their one month anniversary. He reached out and took one of her hands, trying to untie the knot of her arms. Grudgingly, it seemed, she let him.

"There is such a thing. We were married three weeks ago, today. Can you deny it?" He took her other hand and began to draw her to him.

"No. But it's not an occasion that is generally remembered." He said reasonably. Now he knew she was toying with him. He would play along.

"Not by men." Now she smiled, but only at the corners of her mouth.

"My deepest apologies for missing the occasion, my love. I fear it is too late for me to get you a gift as the shops will have closed. Is there any way I can make it up to you?" He was unbuttoning her blouse with the practiced ease of a man who'd been married for three weeks.

"I really don't know. My feelings are quite hurt." The response of her body belied her words as his hand slipped under her blouse and he felt her pulse quicken.

"Truly, I have so much to learn from you. Perhaps you should guide me in all things." He kissed her throat tenderly, then asked innocently, "higher or lower, my love?"

Now she was smiling fully as she considered her options.

CE—

A few hours later, Elsie lay in their bed as Charles brought her a glass of water. He finished his own drink and slipped back into bed, cuddling close to her as she sat up to take a sip. Setting the glass aside, she settled back down, hearing him sigh with satisfaction on her shoulder.

She hated to spoil the moment, but it was time for them to talk. Sometimes it was easier to speak in the darkness. She spoke into his hair as she held him. "You aren't happy, love."

"After that? I thought I made my feelings very clear." He thought she was still joking. He turned his face to kiss the top of her breast. "If we do set up in a more conventional neighborhood, we'll need to consider soundproofing."

She smiled at this, but forced herself to continue. "I am serious, Charles. You aren't happy here in Hull. You are trying, but you just aren't."

"I've every reason to be the happiest man in England. I'm being paid ten times the salary I was making at Downton for a quarter of the work. And I do enjoy the work. We have more money and leisure time than we've ever had or even dreamed of.

"Not to mention, I've the most wonderful wife in the world. What right do I have to be unhappy for even a second?"

"And yet, you are and often for more than a second." She was not going to let him off that easily.

He sighed again, but not with satisfaction. "Most of the time, I am the most contented man in the world. But during some of the more idle hours, I admit…" he couldn't bring himself to complete the thought.

"We're not exactly creatures of leisure, Charles."

"No, we are not, my love." he agreed. "Are you not happy here? I thought things were going well with Suzanne and the business."

"We've started off well and we have the buzz created by our New Year's party but there won't be many events in the coming months. And most of those will be birthday parties or anniversaries that are simple affairs. With a little guidance, I think Suzanne can handle most of the logistics on her own. The training was the part she really needed me for." Elsie tried to downplay how excited she was about the business with Suzanne. The work would be sporadic, but there was great potential for growth. She had enjoyed the taste of independence she'd already experienced. "And as much as I love our rooftop view, I miss the country. I had to walk eight blocks yesterday to find a patch of grass."

He nodded his understanding. "This is a fine place with friendly people, but this is not home. Not yet. If I didn't have you, my little country mouse, I don't know what I'd do."

"If you didn't have me, you'd still be at Downton." She finally said what he feared she'd been thinking. He pushed himself up on his elbows so he was looking earnestly into her face. The moon through the window was just bright enough for her to see the conviction on his face.

"No, Elsie, love, this is not your doing."

"Oh, I seem to remember a certain conversation where I was pretty instrumental…"

"No," he interrupted her. "At the bottom of it, this is about two stupid and stubborn men who know each other too well and have known each other too long to be in this silly predicament. I keep thinking it will magically resolve itself, but with every day that passes, that seems less likely." He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I am sorry I can't be happy 100% of the time. But I am happy 99% of the time. Why worry about the other 1%?"

"Geologists say the crust of the earth is only 1% of its mass, but without the crust there would be no life on earth. So I would argue that 1% can be very important."

"You are spending too much time at the library." He laughed, despite the serious tenor of the conversation. "I would not dream of arguing with you, love; not when you quote geology in your defense. But rest assured I am happier here with you than I would be at Downton without you as my wife. I regret nothing. If you wish, we can move out into the country more, get a small house, maybe a dog." He kissed her palm.

"A dog is not the solution. You miss them. There's no shame in admitting it. You miss Lady Mary and baby George and Anna and John and Tom and Lady Edith and Daisy and Beryl and Lady Grantham and the Dowager and His Lordship. If you didn't miss them, you wouldn't be the softhearted bear I fell in love with." She was resting her hand on his face now, brushing his lips with her thumb absently.

He smiled sadly at both her words and her caresses. "I do miss them. God help me, I even miss Thomas' slimy smile."

"Well, then, there you are. I am not saying that we can't be happy here, but there is no reason we should be separated from our friends. According to Tom, Lord Grantham and Lady Mary are on good terms. Maybe he would be open to hearing from us."

"Maybe. But you don't want to go back, do you? You can play down the scheme with Suzanne, but I saw how happy you were after the New Year's party. And maybe they've already replaced us both." He reminded her sadly.

"That's unlikely. Anna would have mentioned it in her last letter. But it's not about getting our jobs back. It's about getting our friends back; having the freedom to visit them and have them visit us. It starts with fixing things between you and His Lordship."

He kissed the inside of her strong and delicate wrist. "Tom said that Lady Mary would be visiting us soon. We can ask her opinion. I don't want to make her a go between, but she'll be able to tell us which way the wind is blowing."

"That sounds like a place to start." She was glad they'd reached some resolution. She was having some difficulty focusing on the conversation just now as his kisses continued their journey up her arm in tiny moist steps.

"If she thinks it would be welcomed, I'll write to him." Her hand was in his hair now.

"He still has to apologize. That's nonnegotiable."

"Yes, he will still have to apologize, but I'll try to make it easy for him. I don't think I was doing that before." His lips were on her shoulder now. "For now, my love, we've an anniversary to celebrate and there's a second part to your gift…"

CE—

Indeed, they heard from Lady Mary a few days later. She asked to meet them on the upcoming Saturday. Her letter said that she'd like to take Mrs. Carson out for a day of beauty treatments and then take the couple to dinner and a play to celebrate their upcoming one month anniversary.

"I am to spend the _whole_ day with _her_? How is that celebrating? I'd rather spend the day with you, Charles."

"We can spend the whole next day together. It's kind of her to offer."

"I'm sure she'd much rather spend the day with you than with me."

"Well, I'm certainly in greater need of beauty treatments than you are, love, but I don't think men are allowed into those places." Fleetingly, Elise considered dumping her stew onto her husband's head. "Just go with her and enjoy the pampering. You'll be so covered in mud or wrapped in seaweed you probably won't have to say two words to her the whole day."

Charles had been hoping to take Elsie out into the countryside over the weekend, but a visit from Lady Mary took precedence. He was not about to say 'No' to Lady Mary. He was also not about to tell Elsie about his original plans. This did not affect his plans for their anniversary and the country visit was easily pushed back to the next weekend.

Besides, Lady Mary's visit did offer an important opportunity. That Friday, Charles sat late into the night at his desk, trying to compose a letter to Lord Grantham. His first draft had been almost four pages; a rambling mess of apology, anger and injured pride. Finally, he opted for brevity.

January, 6th, 1922, Kingston upon Hull

Lord Grantham,

My respect for yourself and your household remains sincere. I would welcome a word from you that we, at least, have not parted as enemies.

C. Carson

* * *

**A/N We have 3, maybe 4 chapters left. You will not have to wait very long between them, I promise. Still tracking that first plot bunny, but he can't hide much longer...**


	42. Chapter 42

Mary had questioned the cabbie's intention when he had pulled over in front of the warehouse door. She'd been relieved when she saw the neatly printed sign above a doorbell that read 'The Carsons'. Mary did not need to press the button. Carson opened the door as she paid the cabbie. Mary was early and hoped he had not been waiting long. She could tell that he was as anxious to see her as she was to see him.

Charles gave her a hand down from the cab. "Lady Mary, welcome to Hull."

"You seem to have the neighborhood to yourselves, Carson." She said primly. As soon as the cab had turned the corner, she gave him a great hug. "It is so good to see you, Carson."

He blushed and patted her on the back. "And it is good to see you, child. We are glad you were able to come and visit. Mrs. Carson is looking forward to spending the day with you."

"I'm sure she is." Mary had her doubts about that.

Elsie met them at the door on the top landing, trying to stand casually and not at attention. "I hope you did not have any trouble finding us, My Lady."

"None at all." She followed Mrs. Carson through to the sitting room. Carson removed her coat and hung it on the rack next to the door.

"Would you like the full tour?" Elsie offered. "I promise it won't take long."

"I should be delighted." Over the next ten minutes, Mary was appropriately impressed with the Carson's flat. She smiled at the little touches she recognized from Downton. Their home reminded her of the servant's quarters, if you knocked the wall down between the butler's pantry and the housekeeper's sitting room. Their two distinctive personalities were blended to create a comfortable and welcoming atmosphere. As alien as she always felt downstairs at Downton, Mary had also felt safe there. She felt the same security now, but did not feel the least bit out of place.

As they concluded the tour, coming back around to the sitting room, Mary could not help but think that her father had waited too long. The Carsons were nesting into Hull quite comfortably. Mr. Carson had laid out some biscuits to go with their tea as the ladies had walked through the flat.

"Is Anna in town with you?" Elsie asked as they settled down for a quick cup of tea.

"Yes, she came with me." Mary answered, but did not offer any further information.

"I should like to see her, if it is possible." Elsie prodded. She felt that Mary was being evasive.

"She will be at the hotel this afternoon. You can spend some time with her then."

Unaware of the tension, Charles asked, "And how are the children? George must be learning to ride soon."

"I am having a special saddle made just for that purpose." Mary joked. The conversation continued pleasantly for a while, with Mary updating them on the village happenings. Finally, the time came for the ladies to leave for their appointment at the spa.

"We shall have to walk a block up to find a cab." Elsie warned Lady Mary.

"We shall not. I asked the cab to come back for us." The doorbell buzzed, causing Elsie to jump. No one had ever rung it before. "And there he is."

Charles helped both ladies into their coats. Taking her dress for the evening with her, Elsie followed Lady Mary down to the cab. "Have fun, you two!" Charles called after them. Elsie gave him a withering parting look.

CE—

After the ladies left, Charles had headed out in search of a barbershop. Finding a likely establishment, he ordered a trim and a shave. Upon returning to the flat, he indulged in a long, hot bath. He hoped Elsie and Lady Mary were enjoying as relaxing a day as he was.

Carson knew of the restaurant at which he was to meet the ladies. It was very upscale, so he dusted off his evening jacket and white waistcoat. He had not worn them since they'd been in Hull.

Before heading out, Charles donned his great, heavy coat and the top hat from his wedding. He felt a bit of a toff wearing the top hat, but his comfortable bowler would not have been appropriate for the evening. He knew Lady Mary and Elsie would be dressed to the nines and he did not intend to embarrass them. He deliberately did not look at his reflection in the windows that he passed. When he did finally catch a glimpse of himself in glass door of the restaurant, he was astonished to find himself looking at a gentleman. Charles was not yet comfortable in this new skin.

Charles arrived at the restaurant early, but he wanted to secure the best table and have the wine selected before the ladies arrived so they would not have to wait. He was a little apprehensive about leaving Lady Mary and Elsie alone together for the entire day, but Mary had insisted.

He was handing his hat and gloves to the coat check lady when the maître d'hôtel surprised him by saying, "Some of your party is already seated, Mr. Carson. If you will follow me…"

Robert watched the older man cross the restaurant. Mr. Carson was dressed in the evening jacket that had been his uniform at Downton, but he looked very different. His bearing was as proud and confident as ever, but there was something softer and more natural in his movements. Mr. Carson did not look like a butler or a waiter; he looked like a gentleman.

Lord Grantham stood as Charles approached the table. Charles was apprehensive, but it seemed clear that His Lordship was collaborating with Lady Mary, so it seemed likely that this was a friendly visit.

"You look well, Mr. Carson. Married life agrees with you."

"I believe it does, My Lord." Both men sat as the waiter brought a tray of whiskey and water. Robert poured himself a neat whiskey, foregoing his usual splash of water.

Not exactly sure where to begin, Robert took his heavy letter out of his pocket. "I've so much to apologize for, Carson. I've written it down so I don't forget anything." He took a sip of whiskey and cleared his throat, opening the massive letter.

Charles interrupted him. "In the interest of time and efficiency, My Lord, might I suggest you read this first." Charles laid his own, thin epistle on the table and pushed it across to Lord Grantham.

A little confused, Robert picked up the letter. It was addressed to himself at Downton and had a stamp, but no postmark.

"I intended to drop it in a letterbox tonight, if Lady Mary gave us a favorable report." Carson explained.

Robert read the two lines several times before he was able to speak. "We could never be enemies, Carson." Glancing at the letter again, Robert chuckled. "I've always envied your brevity. You always seem to reach the heart of the matter with the fewest words necessary."

"I will admit that I initially wrote a letter that could rival your own. I am assuming that yours makes about as much sense as mine did."

"And you don't want to hear any of it?"

"I am not a priest, My Lord, and I do not take confession. I believe we made sufficient catalog of your shortcomings in our previous conversations."

Robert nodded gratefully but there were still matters that he needed to address. "It is important to me, Carson, that you know that nothing _happened_ between me and the housemaid. In my dissipation I may have acted inappropriately, but I did not cheat on my wife."

"That is between you and Lady Grantham, but, if it eases your mind, I believe you."

Relieved, Robert finished off his whiskey. That had gone much more easily than he could have hoped. As he set Carson's letter aside, Robert saw his own letter again. Its bulk reminded him that he had not yet offered an actual apology.

Across the table, Carson waited silently. "Mr. Carson, I should not have insulted your years of service to my family. I should not have responded with anger when you offered accurate and sincere advice. I should not have cast a pall over your engagement and wedding. I am heartily sorry.

"I will not make any excuses for my behavior, but must simply acknowledge that I've been an ass, a fop, a fool, an ingrate, a peacock… You may stop me at any point Mr. Carson."

Carson looked at him coolly. "I believe that a little honest self-deprecation is a good thing, My Lord." After over a month of turning their lives upside down, Charles could not let him off too easily, but as His Lordship seemed sincere, prolonging the process would be cruel. "Perhaps, just one more…"

Robert thought through his list, what hadn't he used yet? "Twit. Yes. I am a twit." Charles picked up the whiskey and poured some more in each of their glasses, pouring Robert's first. This time, he added a splash of water to each glass.

"Then what must that make me? For I count you as my friend." At this, he raised his glass.

"I believe that makes you the friend of an ass, a fop, a…" Robert raised his own glass.

"Yes, a twit. I think you can stop now. Your point is made." They drank. "And your apology is accepted."

The first stage of his mission complete, Robert enjoyed his whiskey in silence. It was strange yet natural to be sitting face to face with his former butler. Charles absently picked up the wine list and was evaluated the offerings with a critical eye.

"And how does this cellar rate, Carson?"

"They seem to value reputation over quality, but there are some good choices. It is nothing to Downton's cellar, if I may say."

"You certainly may say. Not that Mr. Barrow knows what to do with it. Speaking of Downton…" It was a rough segue, but Robert needed to make the offer before the rest of their party arrived. "Downton does not make sense without you there, Carson. Or Mrs. Carson, for that matter. I hope you will consider returning. You and Mrs. Carson may name your conditions."

"That means a lot to me, sir. More than I can say." Charles didn't know how to respond. This was what they'd wanted, wasn't it? And yet… _If we'd only resolved this a few weeks ago, there would be no question. _"But I shall have to discuss this with Mrs. Carson. The thing is…while we both still consider Downton to be our home, we have both found some challenging and exciting opportunities here."

"You're saying that watching my family eat meals is not challenging or exciting?" Robert teased.

"Well…" Charles was not sure how to answer that question.

"Don't worry, Carson, you won't hurt my feelings by telling me the truth."

_Isn't that how all this started?_ Charles thought.

Robert had the same thought for he quickly added, "Not this time."

"Very well, while I do find caring for your family to be a fulfilling vocation, I must admit that it is not particularly exciting or challenging. Also, I have made a commitment to my cousin's business to complete the project that I've begun."

"Then we should table that subject until you have time to consider further and discuss it with Mrs. Carson. Speaking of whom... I believe the rest of our party has arrived." He gestured to the doorway near the coat check. Lady Mary, Elsie, Anna and Bates all stood there smiling broadly and trying to look nonchalant, as though they had not been watching every moment of the interaction.

Carson smiled broadly at them. Lady Mary nodded to the waiter and he began to lead the four newcomers to the table. "One last thing, My Lord."

"Yes?"

"If I ever offer you any advice again…"

"I'll listen and know that it comes from a well-meaning heart."

"No. I was going to say, if I ever offer advice again, please do tell me to shut up."

CE—

Lady Mary had informed Mrs. Carson of Lord Grantham's presence in Hull and of his intention to apologize as soon as they were in the cab together. Off to such a pleasant start, they had continued on to have an exceedingly enjoyable afternoon; much to the astonishment of both ladies.

Lord Grantham having given Bates most of the day off, Mr. and Mrs. Bates had spent an enjoyable day together, shopping and exploring the center of Hull.

John and Anna had meet up with Elsie and Mary at the hotel where they all dressed for dinner. Anna had borrowed a frock from Lady Mary and John had brought his evening coat from Downton. He had yet to wear it at Downton, but, as steward, he was required to have the full suit. He had altered one of Mr. Carson's discarded uniforms and it fit him quite well.

Mary, Elsie, Anna and John had watched the apology from across the restaurant. They had followed Mr. Carson into the restaurant after watching him arrive from the dark confines of their cab.

Though they could not hear a word, both participants were so well known to them, they could almost guess what was being said. Things were obviously going well, but that was boring. Mary and Bates were entertaining Elsie and Anna by creating their own, speculative conversation with Mary taking the part of Lord Grantham and Bates the part of Carson.

"Oh, hello, My Lord."

"Hello. Carson. Surprise!"

"Don't make a scene, My Lord."

"But I want to read you the letter I wrote."

"Best not. I've written my own list of my demands."

"Oh, let's see then. Very well, you shall have whatever you like, but I do think two half days a year is a bit greedy of you. Is there anything else?"

"Let's start with the apology."

"Oh,yes. It must have slipped my mind."

"And…"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Carson, I've been an ass."

"Yes, My Lord, you have."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Oh, why not? Here, have another drink."

"Excellent. Do you think they have mutton on the menu?"

"I am sorry to say I do not know."

"I shall have to ask."

"If you do get the mutton, might I suggest an 1898 Burgundy?"

"That sounds lovely. Mr. Barrow has been serving schnapps with most entrées."

"And how do you find that?"

"Atrocious."

When Carson and Lord Grantham finally looked their way, the four of them were almost in tears from their stifled laughter.

CE –

By all rights, dinner should have been an awkward affair; Lady Mary and Lord Grantham would never have dreamed of sitting down to eat with their excellent friends in Downton. Instead, the meal unfolded naturally; the conversation was lively and never lagged. To any outside observer, they looked like an upper class family celebrating a belated holiday meal together.

As the dessert wine was being served, the conversation turned to the rest of the evening's entertainment. "We've decided that you gentlemen should take us dancing. All this loveliness should not be wasted in a dark theatre." Mary said jokingly.

"And we've all seen H.M.S. Pinafore." Anna added.

"Would you be agreeable to taking the ladies to a dance, Mr. Bates?"

"I've no objection, Mr. Carson. I can participate in the slow dances and even when I cannot dance, I do enjoy watching my wife. I believe the ladies have already chosen the dance hall they would like to attend."

"Emily recommended it." Elsie interjected. "She says they have a good mix of ballroom and jazz music and a wide range of clientele. We will fit in perfectly. And there should be plenty of slow dances, Mr. Bates."

Lord Grantham was glad to hear Mary suggesting such a social activity. He noted that she was wearing one of her least severe black dresses. "After that meal, I would sleep through even a Gilbert and Sullivan offering. I think we'd best go dancing."

CE—

The music was more exciting than advertised, but John was able to partake in over half of the sets.

At a break in the music, everyone was enjoying some refreshing punch. "Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson, I believe we are the envy of every man in this room."

"I agree, Mr. Bates," Robert said proudly. "and with good reason. We are in the company of the three most beautiful women in the room."

With a comic look of shock, Charles asked, "Are there other women in the room, m'lord? I had not noticed."

"You three could tour as a comedy act," Elsie teased.

"Well, I'm told I need a hobby." Robert smiled at Mrs. Carson, who flushed beautifully. Of course, the Dowager Countess would have told him what she said. The band was returning to their places. "Will you dance the next with me, Mrs. Carson?"

Elsie had danced with Lord Grantham many times, but she had never before been nervous. It was her turn to apologize. The song was slow enough for them to speak easily as they danced. She looked anxiously over to their table where Mary and Charles were conversing amiably.

"By the way, Mrs. Carson, I do have a hobby now." Lord Grantham opened the conversation.

"Is that so? And what is it you have found?"

"Photography. I am planning to travel to some of the abandoned estates and photograph the buildings before they are destroyed or fall down from neglect."

Elsie had to suppress a smile. "What a fine idea. Mr. Carson will find that particularly interesting." Elsie took a deep breath and plunged forward. "Let me just clear the air, My Lord. I very much regret our last conversation."

"As do I." He smiled and she relaxed a little. She'd noticed this evening that he was peaceful and open in a way he had not been since Mr. Crawley's accident. This was the Earl that she knew from twenty years of service.

"I let my Celtic blood get the better of me."

"You were defending your husband, Mrs. Carson, who was being too proper to defend himself at the time. And it turned out to be what I needed to hear. If not how I would have chosen to hear it."

"At least Mr. Carson can claim that his initial criticism was intended to help you. I cannot claim that level of benevolence. I was trying to give you a verbal slap in the face."

"I'd say you succeeded."

"But I neglected to give you any credit for your merits, My Lord."

"As one does when administering a dressing down." He reminded her.

Since he was being so gracious, she took a little risk. "While I still cannot characterize many things in your life as sacrifices, you are a good man and a good custodian of Downton."

"So I've been told so many times that I'm not even sure what that means anymore. Downton is still in the family and it is still an important part of the county's economy, but I cannot claim the credit of it."

"Perhaps not, but you've never given up on Downton, nor allowed others to. So many of the gentry are walking away from their estates without a second thought to the consequences to their staff or tenants. But not you. That makes you a good man in my book."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carson. But I am still ashamed of how I acted towards you both."

"My mother used to say that only a man of conscious can feel shame."

They danced without speaking for a while. Elsie noticed that Mary and Charles were dancing together now. It was a wonder to her how graceful he could be. Lord Grantham interrupted her thoughts. "You and Mr. Carson are doing well here, I take it?"

"Yes, My Lord; so far. It's odd being in a city. Hull is very different from Downton."

"Better?"

"Different."

"You know that I've come to ask you both to return to Downton?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'll need to discuss it with my husband, My Lord."

"But he'll do whatever you want to do." When she did not contradict him, he continued his campaign. "You should know that we are willing to make any changes you wish. Cora said I'm to offer you weekends."

Elsie laughed off the idea. "And if we took weekends off, how could we expect the staff to respect us?"

"I don't have an answer for that, but I am sure you would find a way. I don't think you or Carson have any trouble commanding respect."

"True."

"I won't pressure you any more, Mrs. Carson. Just know that I do not want to lose you or Mr. Carson . I want you to know that you will always be welcome at Downton. Even if you both want to stay on a while in Hull the door will never be closed to you. I know Mr. Carson feels obligated to his cousin and uncle, but we must not ignore any options. Even if you only return when you are both ready to retire..."

"That is very generous, My Lord. If only we could work at Downton part of the year and work in Hull part of the year." She chuckled sadly.

"And why can you not?"

_Why not, indeed. _She thought as the music ended.

**TBC...soon!**


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N – Did I mention that this is a soap opera? This is a long one, and I advise a tissue. You have been warned...**

* * *

"What? You want us to…what?" Charles was trying to understand what she was proposing. They were walking home from the dance hall. The others had taken a cab to their hotel in the opposite direction. "Work part time at Downton?"

"No, we'd work full time, for eight or nine months and then come to Hull during the London Season. You said that your work for Fredrick would be busiest during the spring. And at the pace they work here, we can both do a full year's work in three months."

"That's true." Charles conceded. "Most of what I'm doing for Fredrick is correspondence. After setting up the contracts, my work will consist mainly of researching wines and keeping abreast of trends and new products. I'll be doing that at Downton, regardless. The day to day logistics could be handed off easily to someone with more shipping experience than I have. I could even continue the correspondence from Downton throughout the year. I'd need to use the phone for international calls occasionally…" His thought trailed off. Could it actually work? "But can we take four months off from Downton?"

"You weren't planning to go to London for the Season without me, were you, Charles?"

"Of course not."

"And what is there for me to do in London? Besides annoy Mrs. Collins?"

"Nothing; it's true."

"And if you stayed at Downton? What is there for you to do with the family gone? As it stands, I have to invent things for our skeleton staff to do while they are away. Last season, we removed and dusted every book in the library. The girls thought I'd gone mad."

"It sounds as though you may have."

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

"Think about it, Charles. It's the best of both worlds."

"Wouldn't that be a tad selfish?"

"And why shouldn't we be? People are willing to offer us this chance because we've earned it. We've earned their trust that we won't take advantage of the situation."

"It might be an inconvenience to others. It's hardly fair to Mr. Barrow..."

"I can promise you, Charles. No decision in my life will ever be made based on its _fairness_ to Mr. Barrow."

"Point taken. It might work. I'll talk to Fredrick on Monday to see what he thinks. And you need to talk to Suzanne. You seem so sure she can handle the business without you. You'd better make sure she feels the same. You have employees now who are counting on you." He unlocked the street door and held it open for her.

"You can't go into work on Monday. I thought you had something special planned for our anniversary."

"And so I did, love, but I am afraid tonight may have surpassed it."

"Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

"Of course. But I don't know how anything will compete with tonight. I mean, dinner with an Earl, how often does that happen?"

"Every night, we just don't usually get to sit down."

"Ha." He gave a sardonic laugh. "Very funny,love. Plus, the dancing...I'm afraid my plans will pale in comparison."

"And, tonight isn't over yet..." She untied his tie as she pulled him up the stairs behind her.

He liked where she was headed, but he needed to finish his own train of thought before boarding hers. "But the main part of the day was going to be a surprise that I think I shall have to tell you now, as it may be relevant to our decision."

"How big of a surprise?"

He unlocked the front door. "Pretty big." Charles hung her coat, his coat and his hat quickly by the door. He did not pause in the sitting room or head for the bedroom as she had hoped. "Come into the office, love."

Still holding out hope, she unpinned her hat and called after him, "Your desk or mine?"

"Your choice, love, but _after_ you read this…" He handed her a newspaper clipping as she entered the office.

"'Signore Giuseppe's Conversational Italian,'" she read. "What is this?"

"I've signed us up for Italian language lessons."

"But I already speak Italian. I can say 'hello' and 'goodbye'; Ciao'! Arrivederci!" Her Scottish brogue rendered the second word almost unintelligible.

"And how many 'r's would you say were in Arrivederci?"

"As many as you can fit, love."

Laughing, Charles tried to make her understand what he was attempting to tell her. "I'm not asking you to torture the Italian tongue simply for my own amusement. There is a point to it."

"Charles, if this about our honeymoon, we can't afford it. And things are so confused right now."

"My point, exactly. Fredrick is planning on sending me to Italy in February to meet with some of the winemakers. And I told him I was not going anywhere without my wife, so he's sending us both. When I am done with the work, we can take one or two hundred pounds from the money my father left me and see how far it will take us."

"Honestly? Fredrick would pay for us to go to Italy?" She couldn't believe it. For all his talk about an Italian honeymoon, she had never taken it seriously.

"To be exact, he would pay for us _and_ pay me for the work I do there. At least, that was the plan. But I don't know if Fredrick will want to send me if I'm going to abandon him with the project after a few months."

"But you won't be abandoning him or the project, just working out of a different office."

"Fredrick and Uncle Timothy might not see it that way."

"But it is worth asking."

"Of course, it's worth asking. And they've been so amenable, I can't see them saying 'no'. I just wanted you to understand the opportunities we have here."

"Do you not _want_ to go back?"

"Yes, I do, but I also want you to have your business. I want this silly flat. I want…"

"The best of both worlds?"

"Exactly."

"You are a greedy and selfish man, Charles Carson."

"So I've been told."

She laughed. "You never have."

Charles realized that during the entire conversation, his wife had been taking subtle steps towards him and he had been retreating. Now the back of his legs hit against the seat of his desk chair. She gave him a little tap and he sat heavily onto the chair. Elsie gave Charles a triumphant smile. She'd had her eye on that swivel chair ever since they'd moved into the flat. She leaned seductively over him, her hands on the arms of the chair…

Elsie jumped as the doorbell buzzed boorishly. There was a loud banging on the street level door; shattering the moment. Charles ran back to the sitting room window and called down, "Who's there?"

A frantic Lord Grantham came dashing around the corner. "Carson! We have to get back to Downton. It's Mama!"

Charles ran down the steps two at a time and unlocked the door. Lady Mary and Bates were there with Lord Grantham. They all looked panicked and flustered, though Bates seemed less so.

"What has happened?" Carson asked. Elsie had rushed down the stairs behind him.

"When we arrived back at the hotel, they told us someone from Downton had been calling all evening. They finally left a message for us to call back when we got in." Mary explained. "So we called and Mr. Barrow told us that Grandmama has had an attack. She collapsed and was taken to the hospital. He didn't know anything more, but he seemed to think it was very bad. The whole family is still there with her. He urged us to return as soon as possible. No one is answering the phone at the hospital."

Bates took up the narrative next. "There isn't a train for another seven hours. We could drive it in less than three, but we need to hire a car."

"I was hoping your uncle or cousin would let us hire their car." Lord Grantham finished.

"Fredrick has two, I am sure he will lend us one."

"Us?" Mary asked.

If there was something wrong with the Dowager, Charles felt he should be there. But he realized it might seem odd. "If it is not too presumptuous?"

"Of course not!" Robert was relieved Carson had offered to come back with them. "She'll want you there, I'm sure of it."

CE-

Not half an hour later, Robert, Mary, Carson and Bates were on the dark road back to Downton. Fredrick had insisted on sending Gordon to drive them once he learned that none of them had any real driving experience, especially at night. Anna and Elsie would follow on the first train of the morning, bringing the luggage.

The distance to Downton was less than sixty miles as the crow flies, but the roads were not as direct as a bird's flight. Even through his anxiety, Charles was impressed at how confidently Gordon navigated the unlit roads.

All the long drive back, none of them slept, but they talked very little. They were all too lost in their own thoughts for conversation. Carson sat up front to keep an eye on Gordon, but the driver was awake and alert the whole journey.

Sitting in the cold, unprotected passenger seat, Charles remembered a day over twenty-five years earlier. Grigg had just been arrested. It had taken some work to convince the managers of the theatre that Charles had not been party to his theft. After being at the top of the bill, Charles was back to being filler between the acts. But it was better than starving. Only just.

The troupe was in Bridlington, not 30 miles from Hull. He'd thought of just going back, to see if Nathan and Suzanne would take him in, but they had all three children at home; he could not burden them with his failure.

Charles was doing card tricks for the audience to fill the time as they removed the scenery behind the curtain. It was a noisy set and the sounds were distracting. It was not a good atmosphere for card tricks. Charles felt himself losing the audience. He'd been told not to juggle, which was his only other skill, as they had a pair of jugglers on the bill. But that act had already performed, and had been well received, so Charles didn't see the harm in giving the crowd more of what they wanted instead of more of what they clearly did not want.

Abandoning the card tricks, Charles had thrown a challenge out to the audience. He would juggle any three items from inside the theatre that they cared to choose. "But no animals and nothing over twenty pounds." After some vociferous negotiations in the crowd, they had determined their three items…a sandbag, a glass of water and a woman's hat.

"And you can't spill any of the water!" A helpful voice came from the back of the gallery.

Charles had feigned being affronted. "I wouldn't dream of it. But I am worried that we might not be able to find a glass of _water_ in this crowd. We might have to settle for beer." That had gone over well. Crowds always appreciated being insulted as a group. Each individual seemed to think the joke applied to everyone in the crowd except them, ribbing their neighbor as if to say, 'Mate, he's got your measure.'

Finally, they'd brought a fifteen pound bag of sand from back stage, a glass half full of beer from the bar and an enormous ladies' hat from the audience. Charles had taken a few moments to gauge the different weights. He set the bag of sand on his foot, the hat on his head and pitched the glass of beer back and forth a few times from hand to hand judging how the liquid would move. He looked quite ridiculous. The crowd loved it. He knew they would.

He teased the crowd with a few false starts, letting the hecklers start, before bringing the glass to his lips and tossing back the beer. He then kicked the sandbag up to his hand and grabbed the hat off his head with a fluid motion. He juggled for about thirty seconds, waiting for the applause to die down so the fellow in the back could be heard, "But there isn't any beer in the glass!"

Another patron rose to his defense, "But he didn't spill it, did he?" General hooting and laughter filled the audience as patrons chose sides of the argument.

_God love, 'em,_ Charles had thought. _People are so predictable._

Charles pulled the hat back onto his head, caught the sandbag in one hand and the glass in the other. Those who were not involved in the great debate clapped. As he bowed, Charles spit all the beer he'd been holding in his mouth back into the glass. He stood up to display the half full, foaming pint of beer. The rubes loved it.

Mercifully, he was getting the signal that the stage was prepped for the next act. Charles read out the card announcing the next act and walked to the side of the stage to return the ladies' hat to its owner. He found himself face to face with Lady Violet the Dowager Countess of Grantham. She had come alone to this wretched place to bring him home.

Three days later, he was back at Downton as first footman. Less than a year later, he was Mr. Carson, butler of Downton Abbey, and he had never looked back. Almost never.

CE—

It was half past four in the morning when Gordon pulled the car up to the hospital entrance. As Lady Mary and Lord Grantham ran into the hospital, Carson gave Gordon directions to the Dowager House and a note of reference. "Just keep knocking until someone answers. They'll give you a bite to eat and a bed to sleep in. We'll coordinate your return with Mr. Carson later. Thank you, so much, Gordon. You're a wonder."

Bates and Carson headed into the hospital. This was certainly not Charles' favorite place. When they found no one on the ground floor, they walked up to the first floor. A lone pool of light at the end of a hallway led them to the family.

The room was large and the family was huddled together near a screen that Carson assumed concealed the Dowager Countess. Lord Grantham, Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley were nowhere to be found. Bates remained in the hall as Carson stepped into the room.

Cora rushed for him and whispered, "Oh, thank God! Robert didn't say you were with him. We thought we'd have to send for you. She's been asking for you."

"For me?" Carson asked in a whisper. "She's awake, then?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Dr. Clarkson says she needs to rest, but she won't take the medicine and keeps waking up every fifteen minutes asking for Robert and for you. There is a shot that the doctor can give her, but it has its own risks, especially for people her age. For now, Isobel is best at keeping her calm. All the rest of us can do is wait."

Just then, Dr. Clarkson came out from behind the partition. Silently, he motioned Carson forward. "We need to keep her calm. Whatever you do, do not agitate her."

"But she'll be okay, won't she?"

"Time will tell. She needs to sleep."

Carson dropped his coat, hat and gloves in the nearest chair and ran a hand through his hair to slick it down. He needed to look composed and nonplussed, no matter what sight awaited him. He rounded the edge of the screen. What he saw broke his heart. The tiny, pale woman before him was not the Dowager Countess. Violet Crawley lay in a crisp, white hospital bed that dwarfed her. Her eyes were open, but lacked their usual animated fire. She reminded him of a frightened child. It took all his self-control not to rush to the bedside.

She saw him immediately and made signs of trying to speak. Her voice was too weak to carry past the foot of the bed. Isobel was on Violet's left side; she motioned for Carson to come closer. Robert was in the lone chair, holding his mother's hand. Carson knelt down next to the low bed beside Robert. Mary stood above them both. Keeping hold of Robert's hand, Violet reached her other out to Charles. He took it gently and smiled reassuringly at her. "All is well, My Lady."

Isobel held up a small vial of medicine and mimed drinking it. Carson understood. But the Dowager was trying to say something. He leaned closer in. "f..forgive?" She squeezed Carson's hand.

"Yes, Mama. He's forgiven me. I've made it right." Robert's voice cracked with the effort to remain calm.

Violet shook her head. "…give me. Forgive..._me_." She looked at Carson with pleading eyes.

Ignoring the looks of confusion around him, Carson focused on Violet. "There is nothing to forgive, My Lady." Carson assured her. His voice was calm, comforting and devoid of pity. Pity would only make her angry. "You must rest now. If you insist, we'll talk of it tomorrow. I promise."

This did not calm Violet as he had hoped. She looked away from them all, staring at the ceiling as though the words she sought were written above her head. Dr. Clarkson had returned with a syringe and a small vial. Carson saw the nonverbal exchanged between Isobel and the doctor. Isobel's eyes did not want him to use the injection, but Clarkson's shrug insisted that he was running out of options.

"…my services… are bound…" She brought the two men's hands together. "…to thy law…my goddess…"

Robert continued trying to mollify her. "Yes, I've made it right, Mama." He held up Carson's hand so she could see. "We are friends again." To Carson he whispered, "She's out of her head; just talking nonsense." He was near tears.

But Carson thought he had recognized the words. He ran through the scene in his head. If she was quoting the speech he thought she was…what could she mean by it? Surely, she wasn't saying…

Violet was growing more agitated by the second. Dr. Clarkson stepped forward and cleared his throat. "If I may, Mr. Carson?"

"One moment, please, doctor?" Charles leaned closer to Lady Violet. He kept hold of Robert's hand. He took a wild stab in the dark. He didn't know if he hoped that he was right, but he certainly hoped that it would help. "There is nothing to forgive, My Lady." He said again, but he held her rheumy eyes with his own, willing her to see the sincerity. She had to believe that he understood. "I grow. I _prosper_."

All the tension left her immediately. She smiled peacefully and sank deeper into her pillow. Carson nodded to Isobel who gently lifted the vial to Violet's lips. "Please drink, cousin Violet." The Dowager drank. Moments later, she was sleeping serenely.

They all left the bedside except for Isobel. Carson's head was spinning. What did this mean? Random memories ran through his mind. Was he mad to think…

"What was that you said to her, Carson?" Robert was staring at him in awe.

Charles wasn't sure he dared voice what he had been thinking.

"Is it possible?" Mary asked him. Carson saw that she had understood what had passed between he and Violet. She had reached the same conjecture that he had.

"Anything is possible, child." In a daze, Charles walked back down the hall, down the stairs and out into the hospital garden. The moon and the stars were hidden beyond a thick layer of clouds. Soon, the light in the garden dimmed as they lowered the lights in Lady Violet's room. The family must have moved into Dr. Clarkson's office, Charles reasoned distractedly.

But they had not all left Violet's room. Isobel was planning to stay by her side through the night. Robert and Mary stood by the window, looking down into the near dark garden at the even darker figure standing alone.

"What did he mean? 'I grow. I prosper.'?" Robert asked her.

"It's the end of the speech that Gran was trying to start, but she had it backwards... 'Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law my services are bound.'"

"But what does it mean?" Robert was getting frustrated. He felt like people were talking in code around him.

Mary looked down into the garden. Carson was invisible but for the white puffs of breath. "The speech ends with 'I grow; I prosper. Now, Gods, stand up for bastards.'"

CE—

Robert found Charles standing beside a bench in the hospital garden. It looked as though he had intended to sit, but had forgotten why he came to the bench by the time he reached it. One hand rested absently on the back of the bench, steadying him.

Charles turned his head slightly as he heard Robert approach.

"Is she resting still?"

"Yes, the medicine is working."

"What does Dr. Clarkson think? Will she recover?"

"You know Clarkson, he won't commit either way, but he says there is a good chance for a full recovery. If the prognosis was bleak, he would certainly have said so."

Charles nodded. They knew enough of Clarkson to know that much. "I pray she'll be all right."

"As do we all." Robert came around to stand at the opposite end of the bench from Charles. "I am afraid my Shakespeare is not as good as yours and Mary's. Or Mama's, for that matter. Are you thinking what Mary is thinking? 'Gods, stand up for bastards.'?"

Charles shook his head but would not look at Robert. "I'd never considered the possibility before. I don't know how much credence we can give to the words of someone in her state of mind. But it did calm her down...And it does fit. It is...possible." Charles sat on the bench and spoke into his hands as he wrung them.

"My mother lived at Downton until she married my father. I was born only six months into their marriage. My father suddenly had enough money to buy the boat he and my uncle had been saving for.

"It would explain why my father didn't want me after my mother died." That was a hard thing to admit. His father had always been kind to him, but Charles had felt confused and rejected when his father didn't want him to return to Hull after his mother's death. But why had his uncle taken him in? That part didn't make sense.

"But the most concrete evidence for me is my mother's ring; Elsie's ring. It never made sense that His Lordship, your father, gave such a gift to my grandfather; no matter how many years of service he'd rendered. It was too valuable for one thing _and_ it was a woman's ring. The answer is obvious now. It was never given to my grandfather at all, but to my mother." He bit his thumb telling himself that tears were useless.

"If it's true…they knew; your parents. They must have known all along. At the end, when he was sick, I thought the Earl mistook me for you. And it's still possible that he did, but he might have been trying to tell me, on some level; trying to ask for my forgiveness.

"But we don't _know_. Not beyond a doubt." Charles reminded himself. He sat up straighter. No use going too far down that road until it was confirmed. "I'll call Uncle Timothy in a few hours and get the story from him. He's certain to know.

"The only thing that doesn't fit is why your mother would even allow me to be at Downton if she knew what I was?" Charles nearly lost his composure here. "And why she was so good to me?" He put his head in his hands. Had the Dowager always known about him? Had she lied to him all these years? "I wish I could ask her." He did break now. His tears now were not for the confusion that was his past, but for the frail woman in the hospital bed who had been more to him than his own mother. It would be awful enough if she died, but he could not bear it if she died thinking that he might resent her for keeping the truth from him.

Robert sat next to the man who might well be his brother; who _might as well_ be his brother. "She promised your mother."

"What?" Charles sniffed and drew out his handkerchief as he looked at Robert. "How do you know that?"

"She told me, just before Christmas. When your mother brought you to Downton, she asked my mother to promise to look after you. I think she almost told me more, but I think it was important to her that I appreciated you as a friend before she told me we were brothers." Robert's eyes were wet, but there was no need to hide his tears in the darkness.

"_If_ we are brothers." Charles cautioned him. "I wonder if she knew then, when I arrived? They can't have been married long. Your grandfather had just died. Your grandmother was still living in the main house…"

Robert put his arm around Charles' hunched shoulders. It didn't quite reach, so he patted the man in the middle of his back. "It's no good speculating. It's been a long night. She's resting now and we should do the same. Get a few hours' sleep and we'll call your Uncle first thing."

Carson sat up and looked at the hospital windows. What if he had caused this? What if his quarrel with Robert had brought this on? Robert's gaze followed Carson's gaze; as his thoughts followed Carson's thoughts.

"She'll be okay, Charles. She has to be."

* * *

**A/N- Don't hate me for stopping here. I'll update soon, but I am drained. **


	44. Chapter 44

The train from York was late. Carson and Bates waited as calmly as they could. Bates was not aware of the maelstrom of emotions at play in the man standing serenely beside him. Carson's exterior was, as always, unreadable. The only hint that something might be wrong was the fact that Carson was still in his evening jacket, but this was hidden beneath his great overcoat. He had grabbed his bowler and not the top hat when he'd left the flat earlier that morning.

No one besides Mary, Robert and Charles knew anything about the Dowager's words or their implication. They had agreed that was for the best until they knew something definitive. There was no reason to disturb the rest of the family while they were already preoccupied with Lady Violet's health.

Charles had called Fredrick's an hour earlier, hoping to speak to Uncle Timothy. He had been told that both Mr. Fredrick and Mr. Timothy were away from the house and were not expected back until late that evening. Strick could give Carson no idea of where the two men had gone.

Charles' thoughts swung dramatically back and forth. One moment he believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the illegitimate son of the 4th Earl of Grantham. The next second, he was convinced that he'd horribly misheard and misinterpreted Lady Violet's delirious ramblings.

Charles Carson was holding onto his sanity by the merest thread. His life had undergone so many changes in the last few months; exciting and frightening changes to the fundamentals of how he lived his life. Triggered by the tragic loss of Mr. Crawley, he'd removed his mask and allowed himself to be vulnerable. The immovable object that was Charles Carson had waivered just enough to be moved by the unstoppable force that was Elsie Hughes.

There had been big changes such as leaving Downton, a new job and his marriage. There had been little changes such as learning to cook and weekends. Facing these changes had not been easy for a man so dependent on order and routine. But, little or great, they were just adjustments to a new life and Elsie had been there with him. Like a man with seasickness, riding out the undulating waves by fixating on the unchanging horizon, Charles had navigated the past months by focusing on Elsie. He planned on weathering this new storm the same way. _If only she would get here._

But this was different. He faced something that challenged, not how he lived, but who he was, fundamentally. As soon as he convinced himself that it didn't matter, it suddenly became very important. Then he would build it up to mean everything, only to have his mind dismiss it as a trivial matter.

How could it affect him now? He'd lived most of his life as the son of a drowned fisherman from Hull. Would his life be any different now if he was to learn otherwise? Would he be any different?

Over all of this tumult of emotions, there still hung his fear that the Dowager Countess' health would prevent her from giving him the understanding he craved.

In the interminable minutes that ticked past the trains expected arrival, Charles focused on the twin rails that led to York, rails that ran to the horizon, rails that were bringing Elsie to him. She would know what to do, she would put it all in perspective and she would calm the chaos in his mind. He had to believe that. He couldn't ask Elsie to tell him who he was, but he knew he would not be able to figure it out until he was with her.

Finally, the train steam was visible over the trees to the East. For the first time, Charles let his façade slip. "Thank god."

"The train is always at least a few minutes late, Mr. Carson. I'd say they'll be happy to only be two minutes late today." Mr. Bates said bracingly.

Anna and Elsie disembarked amid the train's steam. The platform was noisy, but not crowded.

Anna was the first to ask, "How is she?"

Bates answered, "It's still too early to tell. The doctor is being cautiously optimistic."

Elsie looked appraisingly at Charles. "Did you get any sleep, love? You look exhausted."

"A few hours."

"They weren't very restful hours, by the look of you."

"No." Charles hugged her, holding Elsie a few seconds longer than was absolutely necessary. His embrace was clinging, almost desperate. She knew he had a special affection for the Dowager, but there was something more than concern for Lady Violet at work here.

"What's going on, Charles?"

"Not here." At least he had not denied that something was wrong. It was progress from where they had been even a few short months ago.

She tried to change the subject. "And how is the family?"

"I don't know how to answer that." He sounded bemused and defeated. Elsie was beginning to become truly concerned.

"You're not going to be cryptic too, I hope. I've had quite enough of that from your uncle."

"What do you mean? When was Uncle Timothy being cryptic?"

"The whole way here. Fredrick offered Anna help getting the luggage from the hotel to the station. He and your uncle came by the hotel this morning, as planned. Once we were on the platform, he and Timothy insisted on accompanying us. I thought they might be planning to enjoy the ride back with Gordon, but the weather is dismal. And, judging by how much your Uncle Timothy seemed to hate the train ride, I don't think he's the type to enjoy a long road trip drive back to Hull, even in fine weather."

"Where are they?"

"By the luggage, I expect."

Elsie was shocked when Charles pushed her away almost roughly and walked towards the luggage area of the platform briskly, almost at a run.

"Charles?"

The train had pulled away. The pile of luggage partially obscured Fredrick and Timothy from his view, but he spotted them clearly. "Uncle!" He could not help but call out. Timothy's very presence seemed to give Charles the answer he sought, but he needed to hear the words, to see the truth in his uncle's eyes.

Fredrick put a hand on Charles' arm. "Charles, calm down."

He had not realized what he was doing. He dropped his hands from Uncle Timothy's coat where he'd taken hold of the lapels. He was vaguely aware of Elsie following him. Anna and Bates were watching with confusion.

"Not here, Charles." Uncle Timothy said calmly. And, just like that, he knew it was true. He would learn the how and the why soon enough, but it was sufficient just to know.

From a distance, Charles heard himself say, "They're all at the hospital. Rosamund will be here soon, from London. I guess we should wait for her to arrive and give her some time with Lady Violet before… I suggest you get a table at the Dog and Duck and wait there." Charles found he still needed some verbal confirmation. "Just tell me. Is it true?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Is that answer enough for you?"

"For now."

He turned back to Elsie who was regarding him cautiously. "If we've a few hours, you should get some more sleep. I've brought you a change of clothes and a few things. Where are you staying?"

He took the bag she was carrying. "I've take a room at the Grantham Arms. We can go there." His word were terse.

Elsie had not asked him anything on the walk to the Grantham Arms, based on his mood. After reaching the room, Charles began quickly to change into the more comfortable suit that Elsie had brought. He was just removing his braces when she finally spoke. "The train from London won't arrive for another hour. You've time to lie down, Charles." He eyed her suspiciously as she began to turn down the bed. She smiled at him, but assured him, "You need your sleep. I promise I won't try to seduce you, daft man."

"The problem is you don't need to try." He was still on the far side of the room. He looked at the bed longingly, he did need to sleep, but what he needed more was to talk to her. Cautiously, he removed his shoes and trousers and slipped into the bed. She settled next to him, on top of the covers and propped up against the headboard. She began to pet his head like one would a sick child. He felt his tensions leave his body and his mind calmed more with each caress. Afraid he would soon fall asleep, he told her, "Lord Grantham will send for us when Rosamund has seen Lady Violet. It should be a few hours."

"That should give you time to sleep _and _to explain what is going on."

"It won't take nearly that long."

Indeed, it had taken only one sentence. "I have reason to believe I am the bastard son of the 4th Earl of Grantham." It was the first time he had said it that clearly and it was the first time he truly believed it.

Elsie searched his face for any hint that this was an elaborate, and poorly timed, hoax. She started to ask a question, but stopped, finding she already knew the answer. Elsie held her left hand out in front of her and looked at her ring. Had she honestly believed that the Earl had given away such a family heirloom to the head groomsman? But then, no one had thought…

"What made you suspect?"

"Something the Dowager Countess said, but it was rather obscure and she was not in her right mind."

"Then how can you be sure?"

"I wasn't very sure at all until I saw Uncle Timothy. He confirmed it. He didn't say the words exactly or offer any details, but he wouldn't be here unless…"

Elsie was having difficulty processing this development. She could not even imagine what this was like for Charles. But she still had questions. "How long do you think she's known?"

"I've no idea. Maybe from the beginning, maybe after His Lordship died. There's no telling. How terrible is it that one of the reasons I want so desperately for her to be well is so I can find out what she knew and when?"

"No. It's natural. If it were the _only_ reason, I would be concerned." Obviously, they weren't going to know anything more until they all spoke to Timothy. "Sleep now, love. There is nothing more we can do."

"But it will change everything, love."

"Not everything."

Charles drifted off to sleep as she stroked his hair. His dreams were filled with jumbled childhood memories. When he woke to the knocking on the door, he was refreshed. Through the cobwebs of sleep, he vaguely remembered a dream. He had been lifting a basket out of a river. In the basket was a child.

* * *

**A/N- There will be another update today, just wanted to get something out there to clarify a few points. I'll explain the timeline in the next update.**

**And I just want to add…KABLAM! That's the original plot bunny finally biting the big one! The idea that they are brothers is what spawned this whole story. I tried to hint at it without being too obvious. I thought I gave the game away by fixating on the ring so much, but I threw a bunch of other shiny objects at you to distract. I hope this will make a reread enjoyable.**

**As convinced as some people are that Charles and Elsie either 1) Had a relationship 2) Have a relationship or 3) Are already secretly married, I am equally convinced that Charles is somehow tied to Downton and/or the Crawley family through some dark or embarrassing secret and that Violet totally knows what it is. **


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N As promised...**

* * *

The family had gathered at the Dowager House. Rose and Isobel had remained at the hospital with Violet. Cora, Edith, Rosamund and Tom had no idea what this meeting was all about. Upon their arrival, Charles and Elsie had been updated on the Dowager's health by Cora. "She woke briefly about an hour ago, but Dr. Clarkson wouldn't let us talk to her. She took some broth and the medicine from Isobel without protest. She didn't say anything except 'thank you.' Dr. Clarkson is still being evasive."

Timothy Carson sat in a high-backed chair, facing his audience. He was not one for public speaking; talking to large groups of people made him surly. "I only want to say all of this once. Fredrick and I are catching the 4:23, so when I am done, make sure you ask everything you need to know and don't beat about the bush." He took a sip of the water that had been provided for him. "Charles, you are the natural son of Caroline Dickens Carson and Robert Edward Crawley, 4th Earl of Grantham. I don't have any written proof, but I'll tell you what I know." He did not pause or respond to the several gasps he heard.

"Your mother grew up on the estate and was very close to the young master as they were about the same age. They rode together since they were old enough to ride. When your father, that is, when David came to the estate to work, Mr. Crawley had been away at school and then off to Europe. He hadn't been home for any appreciable time in many years. When David was working on the estate, he and Caroline fell in love and she agreed to marry him."

Timothy had spoken directly to Charles at first, but as he grew more comfortable, he included everyone in the narrative.

"When the work at Downton was finished, David moved on to find work in other parts of Yorkshire. His contact with Caroline was mainly through letters, though he did visit whenever possible. Six months into their engagement, Mr. Crawley returned home. A month later, Caroline broke off the engagement to David. I remember worrying that David might do himself harm, he was that torn up.

"I'd hear from him occasionally, but he buried himself in work. Five months after the engagement was broken, David writes me that he's saved enough for our boat and that he's gotten married; to Caroline. They came to Hull directly after the wedding which was at Downton. Charles was born six months later. That would be 1855."

"Our business did well and we bought a second boat within the year. I took the second boat and started shipping goods rather than fishing. We ran the two sides of the business separately. Things were quiet for six years, but, then Caroline became pregnant again. David was working long hours on the boat and the fishing was hard in those years. Caroline suggested sending you back to Downton.

"I understand they had a pretty big row about it, but Caroline eventually convinced David it would give you more opportunities in life. She took you to Downton to live with your grandfather, Mr. Dickens, who was still head groom for the estate." Timothy was not going to assume that everyone in the room knew all the connections or the history.

"It was 1862. The old Earl had died just a few months after Mr. Crawley had married Lady Violet. Lady Violet was almost ten years younger than her husband. It's a wonder she wasn't overwhelmed by becoming Countess of Grantham at such a young age, but, by all reports, she took to it like a duck to water. She couldn't have been more than twenty at the time.

"I don't know what she was told about Charles except that he was the groom's grandson. As far as I know, she didn't show him any particular attention, one way or 'tother.

"When David died, I decided to raise Charles myself. Perhaps it was selfish of me to take you from Downton, but you were the only family I had in the world."

Timothy stopped here. He wasn't sure how much more anyone needed to know.

The looks in the room ranged from resigned to confused to horrified. "And you've known all along, Mr. Carson?" Robert was finally able to ask.

"David didn't tell me until after Caroline died, but of course I knew. First off, my brother writes me and tells me he's been jilted without so much as an explanation. Then, five months later, without notice, he comes back to Hull married to the same girl who had jilted him. Six months later, there's a child? Now, I'm no doctor, but I'm good with numbers and five and six don't equal nine. Yeah, I knew."

Edith's natural curiosity got the better of her. She had to ask, "Do you think your brother was paid to marry Caroline and raise the child as his own?"

"David would have done it for free; he loved her that much. And he loved you too, lad." He added for Charles' benefit. "But we were nowhere near being able to buy our boat and David was not prepared to provide for a family. I don't know who paid him, all I know is he came back with enough to get us started, so I didn't ask too many questions."

They all sat in silence for a while, replaying the story in their mind. Something had been bothering Charles, but he was afraid to ask, "Was she happy?" _Did she resent me?_

Timothy smiled at the question and nodded. "Your mother, Lord bless her, was a simple thing; sweet, but simple. She probably honestly believed the young master would marry her. She wouldn't have carried on with him or broken things off with David if she'd thought otherwise.

"Caroline had known the young master most of her life. Even after she moved to Hull, she would talk about riding her horse around the estate with the heir of Grantham. Poor girl probably convinced herself that she was refined enough to marry the lad. I'm sure he never even considered the prospect.

"Your dad, he never held it against her. How could a journeyman carpenter with aspirations of being a fisherman compare to a young, confident heir? She'd have been smart to choose Mr. Crawley over your dad, but it wasn't her choice to make.

"Soon enough after they were married, she remembered that she loved David. I believe she was happy. I believe they both were. She'd just had her head turned by a flashy youth and she'd made a mistake."

Charles supposed he was satisfied with that answer. He still wondered about the Dowager's role in all of this. Before he could ask, Robert asked for him. "And you have no idea when Mama might have found out the truth about Charles?"

"I'm pretty sure Lady Grantham didn't know anything initially. I'm not sure when she found out, but at Caroline's funeral, Mr. Dickens told David that the young Countess was still unaware of what Charles was. They debated bringing him home to Hull, but ultimately agreed that he'd be better off at Downton."

He turned to Charles, "David almost brought you home after your grandfather died, but he had a good job on a deep trawler and your letters indicated that you were happy and doing well. If he'd brought you home then, you would have had to work the boat with him. School would have been out of the question. He didn't want to interrupt your education.

"And it would have disrupted my business. I was using his boat for shipping. " Realizing he'd gone off topic, Timothy came back to the point. "I know that Lady Grantham knew about Charles by the time David died. That would have been in sixty-nine. "

"How can you know that she knew?" Mary asked.

"She told me."

This revelation caused a stir throughout the room.

"Lady Grantham came to see me in Hull not long after you came home, Charles. She offered me money to pay for your schooling. She said the Earl could never acknowledge you, but that they both wanted you to have some advantages, all the same. She was very polite, but I politely told her to stuff it. She had two children of her own to concern herself with and I could look after my own nephew, thank you, very much."

"But I _wasn't _your nephew, and you knew it." Charles reminded him. "Why did you take me in?"

"Your birth certificate says you are my brother's son. But more importantly, my brother considered you his son. That makes you my nephew. Family isn't just about the ones who get you; it's about them that raise you. David didn't care that he wasn't your natural father. He loved you and raised you the best he knew how. I figured I could do the same.

"Maybe I should have told you, lad, but every bastard of the aristocracy I'd ever heard tale of was a bitter, entitled ass. You were a good lad; generous and innocent. I didn't want to ruin that. I thought I'd tell you when you were older, but we grew apart and you left before I got the chance.

"I was surprised to hear from Nathan that you were back at Downton. I assumed that they'd told you."

Charles took the old man's hand and squeezed it appreciatively. He understood. Elsie rubbed Charles' back soothingly.

"But you never spoke to Lord Grantham?" Cora wanted to know. She was trying to understand a parent who could send their child away so callously.

"I never laid eyes on the man nor ever heard from him in my whole life."

The clock chimed four and Timothy finished off his water. "I think that's all I can tell you. I'd best be heading to the station now. Fredrick will be waiting for me."

"Elsie and I will walk you there, uncle." Charles stood and helped the old man rise. He looked over the family in their various states of shock. "You'll want a few moments between yourselves. It's a lot to take in and it should not be rushed." Charles was particularly concerned about Rosamund. She was pale and silent. Her knuckles were white as she gripped Robert's hand. "Shall I come back here or wait at the Grantham Arms?"

Robert answered him, "I think you should come back here, Charles, after you've seen your uncle and cousin off. I think most of us will have recovered by then." He patted Rosamund's hand. She looked up at Robert and then Charles and nodded distractedly.

"Very good." Charles led Elsie and Uncle Timothy out of the room.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N I started out for a jog and ran a marathon, but the finish line is in sight. Time for that last effort sprint...**


	46. Chapter 46

The Crawley family sat in silence for almost five minutes. Mary and Robert recovered first, having been more prepared for the revelation. Rosamund was the most affected, struggling to assimilate this new information while still trying to absorb her mother's fragile condition.

Edith was rather bemused by the development; she'd always thought there was an odd connection between Gran and Carson, though her theory had been racier than reality. Tom was decidedly uncomfortable; he obviously didn't understand all the intricacies of the situation. He didn't think it was anything but good news, but the reactions around him said otherwise. Cora watched Robert, wondering what he was thinking.

Mary broke the silence. "So, I guess we're stuck with Mr. Barrow."

Edith gaped at her. "Trust you to see the negative. You should focus on the positive; there will be more presents at Christmas next year." Both girls laughed to break the tension. Cora frowned at them. They weren't being very sensitive to Rosamund's feelings. Cora was sincerely concerned about Rosamund, whose color was very poor. She wondered where Violet kept the smelling salts.

Suddenly, Rosamund was laughing too, but her laughter was not of the happy variety. "This is absurd." Rosamund finally said. "I don't want to be the snob here…"

"But you will be." Mary interjected.

"Said the pot to the kettle." Edith goaded. Cora glared at them both again.

Rosamund ignored their teasing. "I respect Carson as much as any of you, but the man has been pouring our wine for twenty some odd years. We can't just start sitting down to dinner with him."

"On the contrary," Robert corrected her. "Mary and I did just that last night."

"At Downton? Where he used to work? In front of the servants he's overseen for years? At the same table as local families that he's been serving for decades?"

"No, but we don't have to start there. I doubt he'll demand full rights and privileges immediately. I doubt he'll demand anything at all. We can feel our way forward, slowly."

But Rosamund was not hearing him. "It's too bizarre. What will people think when we start entertaining our staff at the dinner table? I mean, they aren't even middle class."

"What's wrong with you?" Robert looked aghast. He tried to understand that she was still in shock, but he couldn't let her think that ignoring the Carsons was even a possibility. "You were just telling me that there was something wrong with the fabric of the world if Carson wasn't at Downton."

"As butler! Where are you going to put him now, Robert? If you want to keep him around the estate, he'll have to retire."

"He won't like that." Mary pointed out.

"No, he decidedly will not. But we can trust him to do what's best for the family." Rosamund reminded her. "It's Mrs. Carson we should worry about. She's loyal and professional, but she couldn't give a fig for the family name. And she won't care for retiring anymore that Carson will."

Cora was trying to remain quiet, but felt she had to defend Elsie here. "Mrs. Carson has been with us for decades. How can you say she doesn't care about the family?"

"I didn't say she doesn't care about the family. I'm sure she likes us all as much as any servant could, but she doesn't care about the family _name._ I believe I know Mrs. Carson as well as any of you. Need I remind you that she was my ladies' maid _and_ my housekeeper before you stole her away?

"We're just a job to her when it comes down to it. Mr. Carson is much more important to her than any of us shall ever be. Mark my words; she's as stubborn as they come and she won't let Carson just roll over for the family or for anyone."

"You aren't wrong about that, Rosamund, but we wouldn't ask him to just roll over." Robert reminded her. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what? The voice of reason? Do I need to remind you that it was I who talked you into even attending their wedding? And now, you're the saint and I'm the villain?"

"I shall always be grateful that you made me see reason regarding their wedding, even if I was a grumpy guest." Robert acknowledged. "I hope that I can return the favor by talking sense to you now."

Rosamund rolled her eyes at him. Robert didn't understand about London society. Married men never did. As a single woman, her social circles were her family and the events she hosted were her children. It had taken her years of carefully navigating the dangerous drawing rooms of London to reach the status she now enjoyed. A revelation like this could set her back a dozen years or more. She wasn't sure she could tackle the climb again. No matter how much respect she had for Mr. and Mrs. Carson, embracing them as family would not be without its repercussions.

"The only option is that they'll have to remain where they are. It isn't ideal, but there is sure to be talk if they do anything else." She concluded.

"I don't give a damn about talk, Rosamund."

"Well, that's where you and I differ, Robert." She was getting upset now.

Robert knew his sister well and he thought she might handle this situation better without an audience. "Perhaps you could all give us the room?" He looked to Cora to help him out.

Cora understood. "Of course, you and Rosamund will want to talk to Carson privately when he gets back. We'll keep Mrs. Carson with us in the library." She quickly ushered her family out of the parlor and down the stairs to the library.

As soon as Rosamund and Robert were alone, she turned to him, irate.

"I know you don't care about my life in London, Robert, but this will affect me more than it will affect you. Why did you even have to stir? This lay dormant for years! Why dig it up now?"

"I didn't dig anything up. Mama told us after her attack. She was quite adamant."

Rosamund had no answer for that, but paced the room in an agitated state. Finally, she burst out, "That hypocrite! Papa was so judgmental about Marmaduke because he was 'just a banker' and all that time, Papa had a bastard son from a fling with the groomsman's daughter living under Downton's very roof! And dressing his legitimate son and heir, no less!" An awful thought occurred to her. "Do you think he derived some perverse pleasure out of making Carson serve you?"

"If you're asking me to understand our father, I am afraid I can't help you. He always seemed pleased with Carson but disappointed in me. I wonder if he wished Carson could have become Earl. He would have been very good at it."

Hearing the hurt in Robert's voice calmed Rosamund down a bit. "_You've_ been very good at it, Robert. Bastards can't inherit anyhow. No more than daughters can. You were always destined to be Earl."

"Thank you for that. You might want to tone down the 'bastard' talk when Carson gets back. He's taken it in stride, but this must be devastating to him. No one hates scandal more than Carson; not even you."

"I think I could give him a run for his money this time."

"Very likely. But you will be calmer when Carson returns?"

"I shall try. It's not as though any of this is _Carson's _fault." Her tone seemed to imply that it was Robert's fault, but he was not interested in finding out exactly who she blamed.

"Perhaps we should start to call him 'Charles'."

"I don't know if I can do that, Robert. Not yet. I have my limits." She shook her head. The last twenty-four hours had pulled the rug out from under her comfortable life. "If Mama were not flat on her back right now, I'd give her a piece of my mind. What could she have been thinking? Why bring it up at all? And why would she have brought him back after Papa died?"

"I can't answer that, and we are not going to press Mama for answers until the doctor thinks she can take the strain, which may be a while." _If ever._

"Robert," Rosamund asked, suddenly suspicious, "You don't think Mama did this on purpose, do you? Staged the whole thing so we wouldn't yell at her?"

"I think that's a step too far, even for her. But if it means that she's okay, I'd be happy to find that she had. We can always scold her later, provided…"

Rosamund finally slumped into a chair, resigned to follow Robert's lead. "This is a rum business."

"Indeed." Robert agreed.

CE—

In the library, the rest of the family sat in an uncomfortable silence, hearing Rosamund's raised voice coming through the ceiling. They could not understand the words, but the tone was clear.

Quietly, Tom asked Mary, "Is this as bad as Sybil running off to Dublin to marry the chauffeur?"

"Worse." She told him. "Much worse. Sybil was only a daughter of the house, not the heir. Daughters can be shipped off and forgotten. There is a whole different standard applied when it's about the heir or the Earl."

She tried not to let too much spite into her tone as she continued. "It's all ridiculous, of course. You'd have to look pretty hard to find a family in England that doesn't have a few hidden branches of the family tree. There might be one or two, but chances are they are so isolated that they've had to resort to inbreeding." Mary smirked so Tom understood that she was joking.

Cora joined their conversation. "It isn't that the Earl had an illegitimate son, or that he slept with a lower class girl. That's pretty common. The controversy here will be that he was brought into the house to live with the family as a servant when the family knew who he was. It seems unnecessarily heartless." Cora pointed out. "How we handle things going forward will matter; and not just to Rosamund."

CE—

"Are you okay, lad?" Charles, Elsie and Timothy were almost to the station before Timothy broke the silence.

"I shall be. I'm still confused about what it all means; about where we go from here."

"Well, take your time. This secret has kept for sixty odd years. It will keep a little longer yet. You've still got your new life in Hull," his uncle reminded him. "I know you've not even been at the office for a full week, but Fredrick says you've done remarkably well. You're family, but if you were rubbish at the job, he'd let you know.

"And the trip to Italy isn't just for your entertainment; you can set us up for some considerable profits. We don't have time to find another wine expert for this spring. We still need you. Anyone with your level of expertise and contacts is already working for the competition."

Charles was grateful to know that he wasn't just a charity case for Fredrick, he had wondered about the generous offer of the trip. "I don't think we'll be making any sweeping changes immediately, uncle. As soon as things are settled concerning the Dowager Countess, I think it is most likely we'll come back to Hull. For the time being, at least. And I'm still set on going to Italy." He smiled at Elsie, who patted his arm.

"And there is the Burns Dinner to consider, isn't that right, lass." Timothy turned to Elsie, who groaned. Timothy didn't know it was supposed to be a surprise.

"What about the Burns Dinner?" Charles asked.

"Emily, Suzanne and I have already put a down payment on a hall rental for the 25th. It's a Wednesday, but we are planning to throw a great party with the piping in of the haggis and sword dancing; all the Scottish trimmings."

"Why didn't you say?" Charles raised his eyebrows at Elsie.

"I was going to surprise you." She said. Uncle Timothy looked guilty upon hearing this news.

"Why surprise me?" Suddenly, Charles understood. "Do you have some bet with Mrs. Patmore to get me into a kilt?"

Elsie tried to look innocent. It wasn't a bet, exactly; more of a challenge. "You have such a fine voice, Charles; we were hoping you would read 'Address To A Haggis'. You can hardly do that while wearing pants. It would be sacrilegious."

"I hate to disappoint you, Elsie, but me in a kilt is not going to happen."

"You underestimate your legs, love."

"You underestimate my resolve, love."

_And you underestimate mine._ She thought, but this was not the time or place to fight that battle; a battle he was doomed to lose. Elsie almost felt sorry for him. She was glad that they'd reached the station so they could drop the subject for the time being.

Fredrick had secured the tickets to Hull, opting for first class this time even if it wouldn't stop his father from complaining the whole way home. Shortly, Elsie and Charles waved at them as they train pulled away.

Finally, they were alone on the deserted platform. After a few moments, they turned to retrace their steps back to the Dowager House.

"Was it what you expected to hear, love?"

"I don't know what I expected," he said frankly. "The question is, what do we do now?"

"You would think that finding out you are the son of an Earl would open up more opportunities, but, in reality, our options have narrowed considerably."

Charles agreed. "We can't return to Downton now."

"Not as servants," she clarified.

"Obviously. It would cause too much of a scandal for them to publicly acknowledge me, but they can't have me serve at table in case it comes out eventually. How would it look if they let me stay in service after the whole family knew? At this point, it will look bad enough if it comes out that the Dowager Countess knew for so long."

"Do you really think it would cause a scandal? It was almost seventy years ago now and most of the major players are…" _dead_. She didn't want to complete the thought. They were still unsure of the Dowager's health.

"It would reflect poorly on the Dowager. I couldn't have that." _Especially if she dies_. "And it wouldn't do Rosamund any favors.

"Our only chance of returning to Downton is to retire." He mused as they passed the Grantham Arms. "But with us so close to the family, it might be harder to keep the secret. We are bound to become too familiar with the family to escape gossip."

"I'm sure Lady Mary would be running down to our cottage every day."

"She might at that."

"Then what do we do? Do we go back to Hull and only see the family occasionally? That's hardly ideal. While I must say, yesterday was very pleasant, we'll miss seeing Sybbie grow up and George. It wouldn't be terrible, but it will be hard not to see our friends very often."

"No, it would not be _terrible_. It was one of the options we were considering, after all. But it seems the decision has been made for us, which is never a comfortable feeling."

"But we didn't know that they were your family when we were considering staying in Hull. That does change things."

"No, we didn't know. Things could be worse. Hull is only a few hours away and we'll have weekends."

"Would our visiting Downton on a regular basis be any less tempting to gossip mongers than Mary visiting a couple of retired servants on a daily basis? Especially if it becomes known that they've come to visit us in Hull?"

"No. It would not. There is no way we can operate above suspicion. Still, there might be a way…"

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet. But a return to Downton village might be an acceptable compromise."

"But what are we to do if we move to the village? We might as well retire to a cottage on the estate. It would still create gossip."

"Not if we had a plausible reason to be in the village."

"Such as?"

"Such as having a business here."

"What kind of business? What are we qualified to run? I know you don't want to open a tea shop. Not after all the grief you gave Taylor when he left."

"There are worse fates than running a tea shop."

"That's not what you said at the time."

"Love, if you hold me to all the ridiculous things I've said over the years, you will be in for a very dull marriage."

She laughed at the truth of that. "But your saying that running a tea shop was worse than being clapped in irons on a Roman galley was actually something with which I agreed. And still agree."

"At least on a galley, the scenery changes."

"Only for the slave by the window, which is where they would have put the short people. You'd be doomed to sit in the middle with no view at all."

"Good lord, woman. If we do go back to Hull, we have to keep you away from the library. You are becoming an insufferable know-it-all." But he was laughing as he said it.

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

They were nearing the Dowager House now and his mood sobered considerably. "It's all speculation at this point. A lot depends on how the family reacts. I think Rosamund will take it the hardest. She moves in very fashionable circles in London. This will affect her more than anyone."

"You can't mean she'll be as sensitive about a scandal as you are?"

"Maybe more so."

"Oh, dear."

Charles nodded. "Oh, dear, indeed."

* * *

**A/N This story is not wrapping as quickly as I'd thought (these people won't stop talking in my head) but I can still see the finish line. Hang in there... **


	47. Chapter 47

Cora met Elsie and Charles at the door of the Dowager House. They'd given all the servants the rest of the day off, using the excuse of the Dowager's illness. "Robert and Rosamund are awaiting you in the parlor, Charles. Mrs. Carson, would you be so kind as to join us in the library?"

Cora took Elsie's arm companionably as they headed down the hall. The gesture was not lost on Charles. At least one of them was walking into friendly territory.

After knocking, Charles entered the parlor to find Robert feeding more coal into the fire and Rosamund pouting daintily in a chair beside him. As Charles had expected, the shock had worn off and she was not taking the news particularly well. At least he was prepared for this.

Rosamund sat up primly and looked up sourly as Charles came in the door. The cautious and wary look on his face made him look like a child sneaking back into the drawing room after he's been dismissed. She hadn't seen him since the wedding, where he had been almost unrecognizable behind the beard. Clean shaven now, though with some stubble starting to show, he looked more like the boy she remembered or the young valet she had gossiped about with a certain Elsie Hughes.

Rosamund felt a small wave of guilt pass over her. It wasn't Charles' fault that they were in this situation, but she could not shake the fears of what her London acquaintances would think and do upon learning the news.

She searched his face for signs of her father; for similarities to Robert. She could not find any. She had heard rumors that her father had a dimple in his chin, perhaps like Carson's, but Rosamund had never seen her father without a beard.

Robert stood by awkwardly as his two siblings faced off, neither willing to speak. Finally, Charles took a deep breath and opened the conversation. "I know this is a difficult time to have such scandalous news dropped on you, Lady Rosamund. My first concern right now is for Lady Violet, as is yours I am sure. After she is released from the hospital, Mrs. Carson and I will return to Hull. We will be available whenever you are prepared to discuss the matter further." He thought of Uncle Timothy's words. "This revelation has kept for over sixty years. It can keep a while longer. I have no intention of forcing my society upon any of the family against their wishes."

Faced now with the earnest apprehension on his face, Rosamund was defeated. He was not concerned for himself, she could see that. As usual, Carson was worried about everyone else. She could almost see the wheels in his head turning; considering how his every action would affect the people he cared about.

_What kind of heartless monster could reject such sincerity?_ Rosamund wondered. She would try to be magnanimous, but she still had to be herself.

"Thank you, Carson, we expected nothing less from you. I appreciate your sincerity and will try to be as sincere with you. This is not welcome news for me. I hope you do not take it personally, but that is the truth."

"Of course not, My Lady." Elsie had given him one tip for handling Lady Rosamund, 'Flatter her.' Appealing to people's natural vanity was never a bad tactic in any situation. "I have always respected your devotion to honesty."

Rosamund smiled at this compliment. "Thank you, Carson. I fear it may lead me to say some things that will hurt your feelings inadvertently. I will not ask your forgiveness for them all upfront, but I want you to know that I will be trying to be mindful of how this must be affecting you and Mrs. Carson."

"Thank you, My Lady."

_Say something nice_, her mind told her. "I will say, Carson, if I were told that I had to have an illegitimate sibling, and they gave me all the world to choose from, I would choose you."

This backhanded compliment was actually better than anything Carson had expected. "Thank you, My Lady. It is kind of you to say so."

Robert observed this exchange in perplexed consternation. Here were two ends of the spectrum; the utterly selfish confronted by the completely selfless. Was there any hope of a relationship between them? Part of him was curious to see how long they could carry on this bizarre conversation, but he was not prepared to endure it. Robert decided to opt for actions over words. He stepped forward and extended his hand to Charles. "Welcome to the family, Charles. "

Charles took the proffered hand and was startled to find himself pulled into an embrace. Clearly uncomfortable with this display of emotion, Charles patted Robert's back tentatively. Rosamund and Charles shared a look of commiserate discomfort. Rosamund was not a very demonstrably affectionate person either, feeling such displays should be kept private, between two people only. She smiled, despite herself, thinking Charles' reaction was what her own would have been.

"I always wanted a brother." Robert said, pulling away. "No offense, Rosamund."

"None taken." Rosamund laughed as a memory came to her. "There was a time when I didn't even want the brother that I had. Do you remember, Carson?"

"I remember, my lady, but I am surprised that you do. You could not have been four years old."

"And Robert was less than nine months. I don't know if I remember, exactly, but Nanny loved to tell me story, so I feel like I remember it." Rosamund responded to Robert's look of confusion, "Carson stopped me from selling you to the gypsies."

"Did you?" Robert looked at him with grateful awe.

"They weren't gypsies. They were only some of the village children dressed as gypsies. I knew most of them from the village school."

"But I didn't know that at the time." Rosamund reminded them both. "They were going to pay me three pennies."

"So little?" Robert tried to sound hurt.

"I would have paid them to take you."

"They planned to sell you back to the nanny for a profit. You wouldn't have even left the estate grounds." Charles comforted Robert. "They weren't too happy with me for putting an end to their scheme."

"But, Rosamund, you thought they were real gypsies who were going to take me away forever?"

Rosamund tried to defend her actions. "When they told me I would have a brother or sister, I was excited to have someone to play with. But then you came along and you were this mewling little thing that everyone doted on."

"In my defense, I was a baby." Robert reminded her.

"Oh, I'm sure all babies are like that, but you were the baby I had to deal with." She looked at Charles. "You and Nanny promised me he would grow up to be more fun; even tolerable."

"How was I to know?" Charles shrugged, his face a mask of serious remorse.

"On second thought," Robert said, "if you two were going to gang up on me, I'm glad we are only learning about you now, Charles."

Now that they were both smiling, Rosamund thought she did see some resemblance between the half brothers.

Robert shook them all from their private contemplations. "I hate to rush us, but Dr. Clarkson expects Mama to be awake within the hour, and I think we should be there. We need to let the rest of the family have their chance to welcome Charles, if you are done gushing over him, Rosamund."

Rosamund rose from the chair, ignoring his sarcasm. "Very well, Robert." She took Charles by both his hands and looked into his suddenly cautious eyes. On an impulse, she slipped her arms under his and encircled him for a brief second before stepping back. "Welcome, Charles. We're a messed up family, to be sure, but we are now yours."

Any response Charles had caught in his throat.

Seeing Carson struggle with his composure, Robert jumped in. "You never even hug _me,_ Rosamund." Robert teased her.

"When you learn to hug a lady without mussing her dress, Robert, I shall consider it," she replied haughtily as she led them out of the parlor. Chuckling, Robert clapped Charles on the shoulder and they followed her.

When they arrived in the library, Mary and Edith jumped up from the couch where they had each been holding one of Elsie's hands. They both embraced Charles enthusiastically.

As Charles was passed between the girls to Cora to Tom, Robert leaned over to Rosamund. "Their dresses don't look very mussed. You might take the chance every now and then."

"I might." Rosamund smiled at him.

After the initial excitement died down, Charles found Elsie was at his side. He needed to make their position clear to the family before they left for the hospital.

"If the people in this room can be trusted to keep a secret," everyone looked at Rosamund who tried to look innocent, "no one ever has to know the exact nature of my connection to the family. While this discovery is not insignificant, it means more to me that His Lordship came to Hull to mend our friendship. And that I was ever considered to be godfather to George. To know that we were loved and valued before the familial obligation was known, means everything." Blushing, Charles continued, "And I must admit, I'm not particularly keen to be known as a bastard."

Robert stepped forward here. "As far at the outside world ever needs to know, Elsie and Charles are highly respected, former employees who left because they believed it would be too difficult to maintain a marriage within the strictures of service."

"But how are we going to explain the amount of time we are going to spend together?" Mary asked. "Because I don't plan to just let you slink off to Hull and disappear, Uncle Charles and Aunt Elsie."

"I am working on that." Charles assured her, smiling down at his wife who was holding his arm. Elsie smiled back. She had to admit, Lady Mary could be very charming when she wanted to be.

"I have a possible answer." Robert offered. "Unfortunately, you must see that it will be impossible to reinstate you as butler. We would all be far too conscious of the impropriety of it. I can't let my brother serve me; even if the world isn't aware that you are my brother." Charles and Elsie nodded their agreement.

"But we have reinstated the position of steward for Mr. Bates. It's a respectable post, with potentially more prestige than butler and less direct service."

"All the paperwork and none of the actual work?" Charles assessed the job. It was not ideal, but it was an option. It all depended on whether or not Elsie wanted to return as housekeeper. But they were not prepared to choose today.

"Thank you, for giving it so much consideration, My Lord." Charles acknowledged. "But there is no reason to rush a decision. After Lady Violet is released from the hospital, as, God willing, she soon will be, Mrs. Carson and I will return to Hull. We can take some time to consider the options. If things are acceptable at Downton as they currently stand, I would suggest we not make any major changes until the end of the London season. It would be a natural time for personnel adjustments and would not be as remarked upon. And we are scheduled to go to Italy for Fredrick's company."

"Agreed." Robert closed the subject to debate. "We'll focus on Mama for now and decide upon further actions later."

"And even if the truth does come out, any controversy stirred up might have died down before the next Season." She admitted grudgingly. "Maybe I'll go on a trip." Rosamund speculated.

"You could join Mrs. Carson and me in Italy." Charles offered, half joking.

Robert shook his head in warning, _Too soon_.

In the tense silence, Rosamund scowled. "Don't push me, Charles. Or I might try to sell _you_ to the gypsies."

"Make sure they pay by the pound." Robert advised her. Though most of the family did not have the slightest clue of what they were speaking, they joined in the merriment. The family's laughter finally melted away the last remaining tendrils of tension. To everyone's surprise, Rosamund put one arm around Robert and leaned affectionately against him. Robert beamed at her. _Now, if only we knew Mama would recover..._

* * *

**A/N Next chapter...the Dowager's story...**


	48. Chapter 48

When they arrived at the hospital, Rose met them downstairs. "She's awake. Dr. Clarkson is evaluating her. Mrs. Crawley is with her. We should be able to go back up soon."

Cora put her arms around Rose. The girl was obviously very tired. "Thank you, Rose."

Ten minutes later, Isobel came down. "Dr. Clarkson can find no permanent physical damage and her cognitive functions are still sharper than they have any right to be at her age. She may go home as soon as tomorrow." She placed a comforting hand on Rosamund's arm. "But we mustn't overwhelm her. She is insisting on seeing you, Robert and Rosamund. And, Mr. Carson, she has asked to see you as well."

Isobel's look and bearing indicated that she knew something was going on and she fully expected to be brought up to speed eventually. For now, everyone was grateful that she was not demanding an immediate explanation of the Dowager's strange request.

When they reached the Dowager Countess' room, Robert and Rosamund passed into the screened enclosure as Charles closed the door behind them. Shortly, Robert called for Charles to join them.

This time, Charles was heartened by the sight of the patient. The Dowager Countess was sitting up in bed as though she were on her chaise lounge, presiding over a grand gathering. Her strength and color had returned. Charles sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward as he stepped tentatively to the foot of the bed.

Lady Violet greeted him with a wry smile. "Step forward, man. What are you afraid of? I'm the one who owes the apology."

"You owe nothing, My Lady. You should focus on getting better. My Uncle Timothy has told us everything."

"He told you everything that he knew, which is far from everything."

"He told us enough for now. You should not trouble yourself with this anymore. The doctor does not wish for you to become agitated."

"If you do not let me explain myself, Charles Carson, I shall become very agitated indeed."

"As you will, My Lady." He acquiesced.

"Thank you. The three of you need to stop hovering and take a seat. This will not be brief story." They complied with her wish and soon circled her bed, Charles and Robert leaned forward with anticipation. Rosamund sat ramrod straight, trying to look as disinterested as possible. Rosamund was still putout with her mother for giving them such a scare.

"I came to Downton when I was twenty-one years old. Lord Grantham was almost thirty. He'd been traveling the world, enjoying his bachelor life, but finally gave in to pressure from his family to marry in the face of his father's failing health. Compared to the younger men who courted me, Robert was refreshingly mature. Compared to the older men, he was still full of life. I looked forward to our conversations very much.

"I suppose I was not quite as vapid or shallow as my peers, for he enjoyed my company as well. We were engaged and married shortly thereafter. It was a good match for both families. And, for the most part we were as happy as any married couple. The 3rd Earl died a few months after our marriage. We were already living at Downton, as the duties of the estate had passed before the title.

"What I told you, Robert, was true. I met with Mrs. Carson because Mr. Dickens asked me to. I had no idea of the connection at that point. It was an odd situation, but I felt we owed such a loyal servant that courtesy. I promised her that I would look after Charles. I thought there would be more opportunities for Charles as an inside staffer and moved him to hall boy. I promptly forgot all about him." She looked ashamed to admit this, but carried on.

"The next time I became aware of you, Charles, was in London, when we lent you for the wedding at Westminster. I don't know if you remember that."

"Of course, I remember it. I'd never seen anything as grand as Westminster in my life."

"You weren't happy about that kilt." She smiled.

"No, My Lady, I was not."

"In any event, when they were taking photos after the service, one of Robert's old relations was seated next to me. I am not sure who she was or how she was related, exactly and I never saw her again. But she pointed to you and said, 'That Robert Crawley is an insolent child. He dug up my favorite flowerbed looking for buried treasure and had the audacity to be angry with me because there wasn't any.'"

"I started to correct her, saying that she was mistaken, but the woman seated on the other side of her beat me to it. 'That isn't Robert, Mama, he must be grown up by now. Likely, that's his son. Spitting image of him at that age, if you ignore the nose. Robert had such a small, pug nose at that age. But the eyes and the chin are very like.'"

"That was the beginning of my suspicions. I began to take more notice of you. I remembered the circumstances of your arrival. I mentioned you to Lord Grantham on the way home from London. He claimed he didn't know who I was talking about, but he was never a very good liar unless he was prepared for it. His reaction was a guilty one. My interest was piqued. Not long after that, Lord Grantham grew a beard, which he maintained for the rest of his life.

"Going forward, I took keener notice of you, Charles. At that point, I was many months along and about to enter my confinement for Rosamund. Once I was sequestered in the house, I had many idle hours on my hands during which I could feed my suspicions. I tried to locate old family photos, looking for the resemblance, but there weren't many and none of them featured Lord Grantham as a boy.

"There was a painting, but it was not very true to the subject. The best I could find was a crude, almost childish, line drawing. It was little more than a sketch, but it looked just like you, Charles. It was far from conclusive, but it was enough with which to confront His Lordship. The drawing was signed, C.D.

"I was not in much state to confront anyone and before I could bring this drawing to Lord Grantham's attention, Rosamund arrived. That served as a happy distraction and I almost dismissed the whole matter as the paranoid fabrication of my pregnancy. I didn't think anything more of it for almost a year.

"But then, one day, His Lordship and I were to visit with the Dowager Countess, but she was unwell, so we came home unexpectedly for our tea. When I asked after Rosamund, I was told that Nanny had taken her for a stroll, which was reasonable. We were taking our tea in the drawing room when I looked out the window. Nanny was in the garden with a young footman. Rosamund was nowhere to be seen.

"I sent Lord Crawley to confront the footman and Nanny. I went in search of Rosamund. She was not in the nursery; she was not in any of the family rooms. I was beginning to panic when I saw the perambulator being pushed across the lawn by a tall, thin figure.

"Do you remember, Charles?"

He nodded. "I remember looking up to see you crossing the lawn at a frightening pace. I thought you were going to throttle me."

"And I might have done. But when I got there, Rosamund started to fuss, which always flustered me. Charles stuck his hand into the pram to replace Rosamund's pacifier. She took hold of your thumb, Charles, and smiled at you. She settled immediately. All of my anxiety was gone at once, but I was reminded of the suspicions that I had abandoned.

"We learned that Nanny had been carrying on with one of the footman and was bringing Rosamund downstairs when we were gone. Mrs. Pearson had her hands full with a pair of new housemaids and everyone else was turning a blind eye to the situation. Nanny would have let you cry in the corner of the garden all day, if left to herself. Apparently, Charles took it upon himself to take you on your walks, Rosamund."

Rosamund shifted awkwardly in her seat, from which she had been leaning forward. How was it possible that Lady Violet's apology to Charles managed to make her daughter feel guilty too? But this had been an unintended slight. Rosamund smiled at Charles who was as uncomfortable as she at this revelation.

Violet continued her story, "Nanny was dismissed, as was the footman. I decided not to question Lord Grantham about Charles. If I'd confronted him, Charles would probably have been sent away from Downton. It was selfish of me, but I didn't want to send you away. As long as I only suspected, it wouldn't matter. The danger was in knowing.

"But I couldn't let the matter drop completely. I began riding more and took an interest in Lord Grantham's horse breeding program as an excuse to talk to Mr. Dickens. I was rather embarrassed the first time I asked after his daughter and I was informed that she had died several years earlier. If I was told when she died, I had forgotten.

"Once we were past that awkwardness, I was able to ask casually after his son-in-law and how he thought Charles was doing at Downton whenever we met. I think he knew what I was fishing for, but your granddad was not a man who gave much away. I thought I was getting close to the truth when he retired due to a weak heart. He died very soon after.

"That was the only time I met your father, Charles. You'll remember that he attended Mr. Dickens' funeral."

"Yes."

"I am ashamed to admit that I tried to trick him into confirming my suspicions about Lord Grantham and your mother, but he was too evasive. I told him that we had something in common; our relationship to you. His reply was noncommittal. He wanted to know what your prospects were. I told him that you were getting a first rate education which would open many doors for you. That seemed to please him, but he wouldn't say anything more on the subject that most interested me.

"He took you home for a few weeks and I was starting to believe he would keep you there. Part of me was relieved, but it seemed wrong for us to just let you walk away. I was about to confront Lord Grantham when you returned.

"At that point, there was nothing to be done, as far as I could see. I kept an eye on you and asked Mrs. Pearson to keep an eye on your schooling. She was more than happy to do so."

Charles remembered Mrs. Pearson making him stay at the table to do his school exercises when the other hall boys were goofing off in the yard. She had told him that Lady Grantham thought he showed promise and wanted to know that he was applying himself. He hadn't known why more was expected from him than from the other boys, but he had been touched by the attention and hadn't wanted to disappoint Lady Grantham or Mrs. Pearson. It had been a treat for a boy who had lost his mother at a young age to have the confidence of the two women he respected most.

"And so we continued, uneventfully for a few years. Well, Robert was born, but I meant nothing happened as far as you were concerned, Charles."

"Thank you, Mama." Robert said wryly.

"We received news that your father was missing after going overboard during a storm. A week later, we had confirmation that his body was found. Your uncle came to collect you. This was the opportunity that I had been waiting for. I confronted Lord Grantham with everything that I had gathered over the years. At first he denied it, but I had caught him unaware and he was unprepared to stand up against my insistence.

"I wanted to know what he intended to do for you. That was the question that finally broke him. He became angry. He said that your father had already been paid. His exact words were, 'The Carson family has had quite enough from me.'" Violet had always wondered if Robert was talking only about money.

"He said he had only let you work at Downton for this long because he knew that if he showed any interest in you, even to have you dismissed, it would have raised questions. At that point, I am afraid Lord Grantham would have made you leave, even if your uncle was not willing to raise you. Thankfully, he was.

"Not long after you left, after he cooled down from being attacked, Lord Grantham agreed that we should at least insure that your education was completed. I visited your uncle at Hull. He would not accept our money."

"He told us." Robert told her.

Lady Violet took a breath and motioned for Robert to pour her a glass of water. As he did so, she turned to Rosamund, who looked like she was trying to put all the pieces together. "Are you doing well, dear?"

"Yes, Mama. I have heard many unexpected things today, but I am okay. Thank you for asking."

"And Robert? Shall I continue?" She accepted the water glass that he handed her. She was still weak and Rosamund helped to steady her hand.

"If you are able, Mama, I think it is best handled all at once. Don't you agree, Charles?" Robert replied. Charles nodded encouragingly.

"You know the bulk of it from here, Charles. You know why I took you in when you came back to us."

Still nodding, he said, "Because I asked you to. You had promised me a job whenever I needed one. I told you I hadn't anywhere else to go. "

"Yes. There was a good deal of disagreement initially, but ultimately, Lord Grantham gave in to my will. I made it about you being a good worker, I never mentioned that you were his son. It helped that you were so very good at your job and seemed to enjoy it. Had you been at all miserable, we would have tried to encourage you to go into another profession.

"Even though we never spoke of it openly again, we were both cognizant that it was risky to keep you around Downton for too long. Lord Grantham had the idea to set you up as Robert's valet so you could accompany him to London or wherever when he left school. It was assumed that once you had a taste of the great, wide world, you would want to stay there. We underestimated your sense of loyalty. I know you had other offers. I even solicited a few; offers with higher prestige than serving the heir apparent of Grantham. But you turned them all down to remain with Robert, and then Robert and Cora in London.

"When Lord Grantham's health declined and we were in need of a valet we could trust, you were the only option he would accept. On some level, I think he thought we could ensure your silence regarding the true nature of his illness by revealing the truth to you. It proved unnecessary and it was warped logic in any event. But he was so afraid of what the illness was doing to him, he wasn't always thinking clearly.

"Most of all, I think he trusted you, which was important. The doctors warned that anxiety made the fits more frequent and more violent. You kept him calm. I was the one who set him off on his bad days. Not that I have to tell you, Charles." She steeled herself to tell the story of the Lord and the saber, but Charles stopped her, his hand on hers.

"No, My Lady, you don't have to tell…" There was already enough for Rosamund and Robert to absorb, this would be asking too much. "You don't have to tell me anything."

Lady Violet relaxed and sighed gratefully, "Thank you, Charles."

"I planned to tell you the truth after Lord Grantham's funeral and to offer to help set you up in another household or in another profession if you desired. But before I could devise a reason to meet with you, Mrs. Pearson informed me that you had left, rather abruptly; without even giving notice."

Charles had always felt guilty leaving so unprofessionally after the Earl's death. He felt he needed to explain himself. "I was the Earl's valet. The Earl was dead. I could not have asked you to dismiss Mr. Robert's valet in favor of me. Truth be told, those last few years were draining and I needed to get away from Downton and from service altogether."

"That is understandable. But you had not left any means of contacting you. I wrote to your uncle, but he informed me that he did not know where you were. I quite gave up hope of ever seeing you again, but then fate intervened, over two years later.

"Mrs. Pearson was visiting a friend in Bridlington. She actually attended the show and saw you performing with Mr. Grigg. She said you were very good."

"Grigg was good, I was comedy relief. She would have seen one of our last performances. A few days before you arrived, Grigg was caught stealing from the house take and sent to jail, though not for long. The night you attended was only my second night as a solo act. The first night had not gone very well."

"So I gathered. But, the irony is, I did not go to Bridlington to ask you to return to Downton. I sought you out to tell you what I should have told you years before. But when you saw me, the first thing you asked was if I'd come to bring you home. I didn't have the heart to say anything but yes. You looked so lost, Charles, and so happy that I had found you."

"I was My Lady." He admitted.

"And you came back to Downton and you became butler and, all of a sudden, you were doing so well, it was impossible to tell you the truth. Your uncle and I were the only two people who knew the truth and you weren't speaking to your uncle. I believed it was best for everyone if the reality of your parentage died with me.

"But then, twenty odd years later, the Crawley stubbornness decided to manifest in both of you boys at the same time. Charles, you reconnected with your uncle, who I feared would reveal the truth before I could explain. I was not afraid that you would broadcast the fact or try to take advantage of the family. I was worried that the information would hurt you if it came from any other source. I was afraid you would resent me for not telling you. But I wanted you and Robert to reach your own understanding before I unburdened myself.

"So, I ask your forgiveness, Charles. For keeping this from you for so long.

"And I ask your forgiveness, my children, for not telling you that one of the most cherished people in your lives was also your half-brother."

"That must be one of the longest apologies in history, Mama." Rosamund marveled, trying to act as though her eyes were watering from the dry air.

"Well, I don't issue many, so I am not well practiced." The Dowager protested.

"For my part, I forgive you, Mama." Robert said.

"If you weren't ill, I would gloat more, Mama, but, I forgive you as well, for my part." Rosamund reluctantly allowed. "But, Charles, if you want me to hold a grudge on _your_ behalf, you have only to say so."

"Thank you, Lady Rosamund, but it will not be necessary." Addressing the Dowager Countess, Charles said, "I still maintain that there is nothing to forgive, My Lady. As my uncle noted, bastards of aristocrats tend to live lives of bitter resentment; complaining of being cheated out of prestige or money that was never theirs to claim. You have spared me from such a fate." Charles could understand how these sentiments might arise from a childhood where your first memories are of abandonment and neglect. Would he have been able to witness the disparity of wealth he had seen in his life without asking himself 'what if?' Would he have detested the young Robert Crawley rather than wanting to protect him? Would he have experienced the satisfaction of a job well done and a modest wage earned?

"And, as you noted, if you had told me who I was, I would have been sent away from Downton. I would never have known my brother and sister so well as I do. I would not know my nieces. I would not have met my wife. I cannot regret the life I have lived. It would be useless to do so, regardless."

Charles honestly had no resentment towards the Dowager, but his exterior was more composed than his interior. He needed to process what he had just learned. He needed to understand how all these forces had acted on his life, but now was not the time to consider. "But if you must have my forgiveness, My Lady, then it is yours."

"Thank you, Charles." Violet's expression was peaceful.

Rosamund could not suppress her exasperated sigh.

"Did you have something more to add, Rosamund?" Her mother asked.

"Mama is forgiven, Robert has his old friend back, Charles has a new wife and life and I am the only one who is going to pay the price when the truth comes out."

"It doesn't have to come out." Robert reminded her. "We'll be able to keep it secret, if _you_ can."

"And Rosamund, dear, do stop your worrying." Lady Violet added. "If this loses you any of your London 'friends' we'll have done you a favor."

"One that I will not thank you for, Mama."

**TBC...**


	49. Chapter 49

Relating the story of Charles' past had been very trying on the Dowager Countess. Charles left her with Robert and Rosamund and left to find Elsie with the family. Charles found them in Dr. Clarkson's consulting room. Both Rose and Isobel had been brought in on the secret. Rose expressed her excitement at having him in the family with perhaps more energy than was necessary in Carson's mind. Cora reminded Rose that they'd all agreed that the information would go no further. "Under no circumstance is anyone else to be told. Not even your mother, Rose. Especially, not your mother."

"Of course not!" Rose agreed. "You might was well hire a marching band to parade through town with a banner, as tell her anything you'd like to keep secret."

Isobel and Elsie sat in the corner together, talking quietly. Isobel took her cue from Elsie and let Charles come to them. He was looking overwhelmed. "I can understand how a single piece of news can change your life forever, Mr. Carson. Such news is both a blessing and a burden."

"Indeed, thank you, for saying so, Mrs. Crawley."

Still holding Elsie's hand, she shared, "Becoming part of this family has enriched my life in many ways, but sometimes I still dream of my old life in Manchester. If you need anything from me, either of you, you need only ask."

Charles left the two friends to themselves a while longer as he joined the rest of the family. He assured them that the Dowager looked very healthy and that he wouldn't be surprised if she was her old self in no time. He was not prepared to recount the Dowager's story and deflected most of their direct questions, promising that Lord Grantham or Lady Rosamund would answer all their inquiries soon enough.

Finally, Charles said, "Elsie and I should go. It will look suspicious if we spend so much time with the family."

It was a sensible argument, but the truth was, he was becoming claustrophobic in this room. He needed space. After years of having no one, Charles now found himself with a wife, an uncle and cousin, a half-brother and half-sister, two nieces, a nephew-in-law, a grandniece and grandnephew, and whatever Rose and Violet were to him. _Cousins?_ The weight of all this new family was almost suffocating.

He was used to people needing things from him, but his butler's margin of detachment from the family was gone. As Isobel had noted, belonging to a family such as the Crawleys was a double edged sword. He supposed belonging to any family must be the same.

Finally escaping the smothering attention, Charles walked with Elsie out of the hospital. A wave of indecision and confusion washed over him. It was too soon to go back to the Grantham Arms and it would be disruptive if they walked up to the main house to visit. He looked at the Dog and Duck. For the first time in his life, Charles actually contemplated drinking himself into forgetfulness. He'd spoken brave words of forgiveness to the Dowager and his half-siblings. He had wanted to mean them, but he did not feel as brave now.

Charles thought of the Dowager's story and of his uncle's account. In retrospect, he was just a piece of flotsam floating through his life at the whim of the winds and currents of other people's decisions. He was a grown man of almost seventy. He was responsible for his own life, but as a child, they'd given him a map with no legend and a compass with no needle and they had set him adrift in a boat with no oars. Was it any wonder that he had abandoned the boat, picked a direction and started swimming?

Order and tradition were the stars by which he had tried to navigate. All of this new information had not helped him; it had only shifted the sky, the stars had changed. He told himself he was still the son of Caroline and David Carson. He was still the trusted and valued servant of Downton. But he wasn't as confident in those facts as he had been just the day before.

Swimming in deep waters, doubt was your greatest enemy. If you doubt, you stop swimming. If you stop swimming, you sink. His chest tightened as another wave of uncertainty threatened to overwhelm him…

"Charles?" Her voice called him back to himself. "It's been a full and exhausting twenty-four hours. Why don't we have an early supper and turn in?"

"That is a wonderful plan, love." He tried to sound enthusiastic, but had no hope of fooling her and abandoned the pretense mid sentence. She steered him into the Dog and Duck. Had it really been only a day? This time yesterday, he was soaking in a hot bath, looking forward to dinner with Elsie and Lady Mary. That was another reason he had enjoyed being a butler, experience had convinced him that almost nothing good ever came of leaving the comfort of your home.

Seated at the Dog and Duck, they had just been served their bread and stew when Mr. Beadle stopped by their table. "Wasn't sure we'd be seeing you again, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Carson. It's very good to see you both."

"Thank you, Mr. Beadle, but I don't know why you are surprised to see us." Elsie said, nonchalantly. "We may be semiretired in Hull, but we have many friends in Downton whom we shall often be visiting, I shouldn't wonder."

"There was a rumor that you'd have a falling out with the Earl." He looked greedily at Mr. Carson, hoping for a tidbit of gossip to feed the crows at the Post Office.

Mr. Carson mostly ignored him, only acknowledging his presence by setting down his spoon. Elsie answered again, "As you say, Mr. Beadle, it's a rumor. And a false one, at that. We are still on excellent terms with the family."

"I'm glad to hear it." Though he didn't believe it. He wasn't the center of the Downton grapevine for nothing. "If you don't mind my asking, why did you leave Downton, if you are still so close with the family?"

Effortlessly, Elsie spun the story they'd agreed upon. "Mr. Carson and I discovered very quickly that being married was going to affect our ability to maintain our high standards of service. We had hoped it would not, but that was the reality. It wasn't fair to the staff or the family to ask them to accommodate us.

"We are very lucky that Charles' uncle and cousin have work for him in their company, but we had to move to Hull quickly because they needed Charles to start right away. The family has been very understanding."

"What kind of work is it, Charles?" When he failed to respond to the prying man's inquiry Elsie kicked Charles under the table.

"Hm? Oh, yes, ah, wine importing." Charles managed to reply, almost looking engaged. "Setting up contracts and scheduling shipments."

"Is there something wrong, Charles?" Mr. Beadle asked. Charles looked at him with his mouth agape, he could not think of a response.

Elsie stepped in again. "You've heard about the Dowager, I've no doubt, Mr. Beadle?"

"Oh, aye. I hope she's well." Seeing the opportunity for more information, he asked, "Do you know anything?"

"Well, the doctor seems to think she will recover, but Mr. Carson is still very worried about her. Now, I don't wish to be rude, Mr. Beadle, but we'd like to finish our supper in peace, if we may. It's been a trying day. Charles didn't get much sleep last night."

"Yes, of course. I heard that you arrived with His Lordship and Lady Mary early this morning, Mr. Carson."

"If you knew about that, I wonder that you give any credence to the rumor of a falling out. Really, Mr. Beadle, you are considered one of the best sources in Downton. Please make sure you get your facts right."

The humbled postman recognized that he had been dismissed. Marriage certainly had not softened the Elsie Hughes he had known. Mr. Beadle offered his farewell and left them.

Charles managed to say a weak, "Goodbye, Mr. Beadle."

Elsie watched the man leaving the pub with his quick, officious gait. "Well, that will spread our story more quickly than posting an announcement in the Times." She was proud of her handiwork.

Charles picked up his spoon, but before he began to eat his stew again he said, "I never know if I should be impressed or frightened that you can lie so easily, love."

"I think you're best settling on a healthy mixture of both, love. And a Scot never _lies_. Lying is so crude. We just _bend _the truth a wee bit until we like the way it sounds."

He gave her a weary half smile at this, "I'll make a note of that for future, love."

CE—

After supper, Elsie and Charles walked the short distance back to the Grantham Arms. Charles was still in deep contemplation. Elsie had not dared to press him for information while they were in public. She was anxious now to reach the privacy of their room and learn what the Dowager had told him.

Elsie accepted the key from Mr. Samuels and confirmed that they would be taking breakfast at the pub the next morning. Charles followed obediently in her wake. Elsie turned the key in the lock and they both entered the room. Wordlessly, Charles removed his coat and helped her out of hers.

Elsie looked at the room. There were two chairs, but they didn't look very comfortable, perhaps they should just sit on the bed. She had a feeling he would need her close when he recounted the story.

She turned back to him as he took her hand. Before she knew what was happening, Charles had pulled her close to him. He kissed her gently, wrapping his arms around her, but then, something changed. His grip became possessive and his kiss became hungry. He held her against the door. He began removing her clothes and his in a random, frantic manner.

"Charles…" Elsie gasped.

"Shh. Please, love, no talking." His voice was pleading, in stark contrast with his forceful actions. He didn't need her words, he needed her. He needed to be desired by her. Above all, he needed to feel in control of something; anything.

He was as intense and frantic as he had been on their first evening, but now he had confidence and experience. In the fleeting moments of thought that she managed, Elsie understood what he needed from her and let him take it. What she gave him was not complicated; it was simple and visceral and precious.

Sometime later, they lay in the semi dark room, side by side on the bed, with only their shoulders touching. "Thank you, love. I needed that." He breathed, sounding like himself for the first time since they'd left the hospital.

"You are welcome, love, but I'll have to admit that it was mutually beneficial."

"I'd be disappointed to hear otherwise." The sound of his deep chuckle comforted her. She had been worried about him all through supper.

She reached out and took his hand in hers. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"I was rather hoping you'd be too exhausted." He squeezed her hand gently.

"I am exhausted, just not too exhausted to listen. And I won't get much sleep until I know everything. My curiosity is just too strong."

"Very well." He proceeded to tell her everything that had passes between him, Robert and Rosamund. Then, he told her Lady Violet's story. She listened intently, not wanting to miss any detail for fear of making him repeat anything. She listened to his tone almost as much as she listened to the words. "And I forgave her." He concluded. He was holding her close now.

"Just like that?" She sounded skeptical.

"I didn't see the point of doing anything else." He admitted. "What good would it have done to be angry with her?"

"But you are angry with her?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish between anger and injury." He mused. "I can see not telling a child the truth. But at some point, I was adult enough to be trusted to make my own decisions."

"But you have made your own decisions, love."

"But I didn't have all the information." He reminded her.

"Would it have made a difference? At every chance, you chose to stay with the family." She reasoned. "The only difference would have been that you would not have been _allowed_ to stay with the family. I don't see that knowing would have made anything better."

When he did not reply, she continued to think out loud. "You are still Charles Carson. That has not changed." She felt his chin against her hair as he nodded.

"I know that, but it puts a new angle on every interaction I ever had with my parents, especially, my father. He was so happy when my mother finally became pregnant. They'd been trying for years. Now I see that he wanted a child that was truly his. And I can't blame him for that."

"You heard your uncle; your father loved you, Charles."

"I suppose he did." Charles conceded. "But when I think of all the years at Downton; with the Dowager and the 4th Earl? They knew all along. That's what is hardest for me to accept."

"And how do you envision your life would be different if you had known?"

"It's hard to say. It isn't as if I missed out on knowing my real father. The Earl and I were actually very close. Maybe closer than he was to Lord Grantham."

"That's probably what the Dowager intended."

"Perhaps."

"So that's an advantage to not having known. What might have changed if you'd known?"

"When I was with my uncle, I did have aspirations of going to university. I did well in the Hull higher grade school. I was particularly interested in the science of engineering, but I thought I was set to work for my uncle and didn't pursue it. Not to mention the cost was prohibitive. If I had known my true background, I might have had more opportunities for an even higher education."

"You are very intelligent, I know, love, but Science? Engineering? I am not sure that was a realistic dream. Charles, need I remind you of your reaction to the sight of an electric toaster?"

He did laugh at this. "But if I had seen it when I was seventeen, I would have pulled it apart to find out how it worked. If I had attended university, I would have applied myself to my studies with the same single-mindedness that I applied to becoming a butler."

Elsie believed him, but she couldn't believe it was worth second guessing his life. Not at this stage, especially. "But you became a phenomenal butler, Charles, and you should be proud of that."

"I am, love. And if I had never been a butler, I would never have met you, so I can never regret where my life has led me. It's just frustrating to see how much I've let other people's decisions shape my life."

"I understand. Speaking of decisions…we've a few to make."

"I can't go from complaining about having no say in my life to lamenting having too many decisions to make. But, in reality, we only have one decision; what do you want out of life as we move on from today?" He asked her.

"I want to be with my husband and with my friends. I want to stay busy, doing something worthwhile."

"Then that is what you shall have."

"The truth is that I was just starting to enjoy Hull. The only question would be if I could stay busy enough there."

"You seemed excited about running your own business."

"I am still excited about it, I just don't know if there is enough work to keep both Suzanne and me busy year round. But there is something exhilarating about being the boss; the person who is responsible for everything."

"My favorite thing about Hull is our silly flat. After running someone else's household for so long, I like having my own."

"And all those years, we ran Downton by other peoples' rules. We did it well, but it is nice to live by our own rules. "

They lay, quietly for a while, each considering their options for the future. Eventually, Charles spoke. "What do you think of the Grantham Arms?"

"It's comfortable enough, and you can't beat the location. But I will be glad to sleep in our own bed soon."

"I meant, as a business; as_ our_ business."

"What? Very funny." He didn't speak. "Charles, are you serious? Is that even possible?"

"I've been talking to Mr. Samuels about the possibility for some time. He's been considering selling ever since Lilian died, three years ago."

"Charles, how is running a pub any better than running a tea shop? You were appalled when Mr. Bates was working in a pub."

"A valet tending bar is very different from a retired butler and housekeeper owning a pub. And the Grantham Arms is more than just a pub, it's also an inn. I've seen the books; the income is steady. With a few efficiencies, the profits could be even greater."

"You've looked at the books? Why would you do that?"

"I've been helping Mr. Samuels with some advice and bookkeeping for years. After you and I became engaged, he and I started discussing the possibility of us buying him out. I wanted to be prepared in the event that things did not work out at Downton."

"Which they did not."

"No, but not for the reasons I had thought."

"Should I ask why didn't you mention this to me earlier?"

"I wanted us to focus on making things work at Downton. I thought if you knew that I'd been talking to Mr. Samuels, you might think that I expected us to fail."

"And you thought that would make me reconsider marrying you?"

"I admit, I did. But it's the perfect solution now. With all the new developments, owning the Arms would solve a lot of our problems. We'd have a plausible reason to be in Downton and it wouldn't be odd for us to interact with the family."

"People might think Mary or Lord Grantham have developed a drinking problem."

"As middle class business owners, we could have some interaction with the family without suspicion. And we can improve some things at the pub, make it more respectable. And give them excuses to visit. I have some ideas."

"Such as?"

"Live music, better food, a wine list, theme nights..."

"A wine list might we wasted on this lot. And what precisely is a theme night?"

"Just what it sounds like; you take a traditionally slow night, basically any weeknight but Friday, and offer something unique that might bring in fresh customers. Themes can be anything; based on activities or groups of people. You could do a book discussion night, a farm worker's night, a veteran's night… anything that gets people into the pub and drinking. The possibilities are endless."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"Which you and I are used to. But once something catches on, it should be self-sustaining; driven by local interest. Whatever it is will become as regular as heading to the pub for a pint on payday for the people of Downton. Tom says his cousin runs a quiz at his local in Dublin."

"A quiz?" Elsie thought that sounded like fun. "Charles, I can see you have given this a good deal of thought, but what about Hull? Are you planning to abandon all of that?"

"That's another reason purchasing the Arms is perfect. We don't have to rush. Mr. Samuels will not be ready to sell until next year. He's having a house built near his brother in Harrogate but it won't be ready for a while. You can set things up with Suzanne and I can figure things out with Fredrick. We can have the best of both worlds, love.

"And even when we own it, we don't have to actually be here every day to run it. Mr. Grant has been essentially running things for Mr. Samuels for years and has been very trustworthy. I wouldn't dream of putting anyone out of work, so we'd keep him on. We could ask Anna and John to keep an eye on Mr. Grant for us when we are in Hull. And you and I could visit whenever we like and focus on slowly introducing our improvements. It wouldn't have to interfere with our lives in Hull at all."

An idea struck him. "We could hire Mrs. Patmore or Daisy to cook fancy dinner once every month or two. I'd put together some wine pairings and people would pay a flat price. You could bring in some of your staff from Hull for extra training and we'd have a high class, sit down dinner. We could give the Downton middle class a taste of the upper class."

"You make a very compelling argument, Mr. Carson. Have you considered where we are to get the money to make this great purchase?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. Samuels doesn't need the money in one lump sum. I have saved enough for a reasonable down payment. It would be most of my retirement savings, but not all of it. Then, we would send him a percentage of the profits, setting a minimum monthly amount until the purchase price is paid off, accounting for interest, of course. I could afford this even before I knew about the money my father had left me. Mr. Samuels and I had agreed on terms for fifteen years. And, if we can increase the profits even a little, we can pay off the purchase even faster."

Finally, the excitement of the last two days caught up with her. Elsie felt her eyelids growing heavy. "That's a good plan, Charles. But, at this moment, I am too tired to consider it properly."

"I know it's a lot to process, love, but we aren't up against any time table. Right now, we can focus on our trip to Italy, our Italian language lessons and your Robert Burns night."

Groggily, she offered, "We could have a Robert Burns night at the pub. I know many people in Downton who would pay good money to see you in a kilt."

"You'd have to give them their money back." He yawned grandly and turned to lie on his side, draping one arm over Elsie, protectively.

"Oh, it will happen, Mr. Carson." She snuggled into his sleepy embrace.

"In your dreams, Mrs. Carson." He was half asleep before the sentence was spoken.

"Yes, there as well."

* * *

**A/N- One more chapter (I'm pretty sure) and an Epilogue and I'll give them back to Mr. Fellowes for a while. And my family will stop threatening to take away my computer ;)  
**


	50. Chapter 50

The next morning, after a more controlled reprisal of last night's activities, a famished Charles and Elsie headed downstairs for breakfast. When they reached their table, Charles pulled Elsie's chair out for her and kissed her cheek as she sat. "Happy anniversary, love."

"So far." She smiled playfully.

They were planning to visit the hospital as soon as they had eaten. There was every hope that the Dowager would be well enough to return home today. Charles was on his third helping of black pudding when Mr. Lowell entered the pub. "I've come to bring you both to Downton, at your convenience." He said curtly.

Charles' did not like the sight of the grim chauffeur and the black armband he wore. It made sense that the more visible servants would still wear the signs of mourning for Mr. Crawley as long as the family maintained their mourning dress. Still, something about the sight of the man and his somber face worried Charles. Not that he had much reason to be happy, being sent to fetch a pair of servants at this hour of the morning.

Lowell would offer no answer when Elsie inquired after the Dowager during the ride to the house. He only said, "It is not my place to discuss the family's private business." He had a point. As far as he was concerned, Charles and Elsie were valued former employees, nothing more.

Upon arriving, Mr. Barrow led Elsie to join the ladies in the drawing room, while Charles was instructed to see himself to the library.

In the Downton library, Robert and Rosamund sat side by side on the great couch opposite Mr. Murray. It was indicated that Charles should join them. He did so wordlessly. Mr. Murray opened the great file on the table before him. The words, 'Last Will and Testament' glared at him in bold, cursive writing. Charles felt his stomach lurch. The Dowager had seemed to be improving when he left her yesterday. Had there been another attack? Why hadn't they told him?

With a nervous chuckle Mr. Murray set the large, sealed document aside, "Thankfully, we'll not be needing that today." Neither Robert nor Rosamund so much as blinked, but Charles' was finally able to breathe. "Here is what I need." He drew an aged brown envelope from the file and set the remaining documents aside.

"This envelope was left in the care of Lady Violet as part of the 4th Earl's Will. Its dissemination was left to her discretion. I have been instructed by Her Ladyship to give it to you today, Lord Grantham, in the presence of Lady Rosamund and Mr. Charles Carson." Mr. Mason pushed the envelope towards Robert. He gathered the rest of the papers and rose to leave. "I shall show myself out." He quickly added as Carson instinctively made to stand.

Robert's eyes had not left the envelope during Murray's exit. An irrational fear was rising in his chest. What could possibly be in that envelope? Had his father found a way to reach out from beyond the grave to further insult and injure him? He felt like a young boy again, intimidated by the memory of his father.

"Well?" Rosamund prodded. "If you are afraid to open it, I shall do the honors." She reached for the envelope.

"No." Robert stopped her hand. "I shall do it."

The envelope contained three letters and another, slightly smaller envelope which, judging by its dimensions, contained either documents or photos. This envelope was addressed to Charles E. Carson. The letters were simply addressed, 'Robert', 'Rosie' and 'Charles' and were each sealed with a wax stamp bearing the Grantham Coat of Arms. Robert handed the other two letters to his brother and sister.

Rosamund had nothing to fear from her letter and tore it open quickly. By unspoken consensus, Robert and Charles sat silently as Rosamund read her letter. She smiled sadly as she read. She had always been a daddy's girl. Their only disagreement had been over Marmaduke but her father had eventually come around on that.

Rosamund perused the letter a few times before she realized that she had an audience. Robert looked at her expectantly. She did not plan to share the entire letter with them, but summarized.

"It more or less confirms Mama's story. He says I shouldn't be a snob to Charles and he's sorry he was so horrid to Marmaduke when I first married him. That's all, really. Nothing earth shattering. We don't have a half-sister working in the kitchens."

Robert gave her a sardonic smile. "Thank you, Rosamund. I shall rest easy now."

Neither Robert nor Charles seemed keen to open their letter. Rosamund decided they needed a nudge. "Who shall go next? I propose reading the shortest one first."

It was clear by their comparative heft that Charles' letter was by far the longest. Robert reluctantly broke the seal on his own letter and unfolded the single page.

To Robert's relief, his father's words were not hurtful at all. They were humble and supportive, two words Robert had never in his life associated with his father. Robert did not feel the need to share his father's exact words. The letter had been obviously influenced by the Earl's fear of his impending decline, but still… Robert looked at the final paragraph again.

_'I am relieved that I am passing the stewardship of Downton to a man who is more worthy than I proved to be and to a son who has made me prouder than I have any right to be. I have every confidence that you will continue to always do what is best for the family and that you will treat your brother with the respect and compassion that he deserves.'_

Controlling his welling emotions, Robert reported, "Much the same as Rosamund's. He says that he doesn't have to worry about me doing the right thing where Charles is concerned."

Rosamund and Charles both suspected there was much more to the letter, but they respected Robert's choice not to share it all with them, for now.

Finally, it was Charles' turn. Charles used his pen knife to break the seal and open his letter. Leaving the final, unopened envelope on the table before him, he began to read.

_'Charles Edward Carson, _

_I have no idea when, where or if this letter may find you. I do not know what you have been told or what you may suspect, but this letter is to confirm that I, Robert Edward Crawley, am your natural father. _

_I harbor no hope of redemption in your eyes, but I feel that I must defend your mother and I will attempt to explain my actions as they pertain to your birth and upbringing so far as I can. _

_Your mother was deceived, not in my regard for her, but in my intent. Growing up, Caroline Dickens was my dearest companion. From a young age, the family was aware of our devotion to one another. We saw no need to hide our affection in our youth. By the time we were aware of the differences in our station, we were already in love. My family was vehemently opposed to any match between us. When I left school, I was sent to the continent in hopes that a prolonged separation would bring an end to our attachment. _

_While in Paris, I fell in with a group of young expatriates, a gang of idle reprobates. Influenced by them, I devised a scheme which I felt would ensure my own happiness and satisfy the demands of my family. I returned to Downton to find Miss Dickens engaged to David Carson, which ran counter to my plans. Very shortly after returning, I rekindled Miss Dickens' affection for me and convinced her to break her engagement. _

_I took advantage of your mother's generous and trusting nature. I reminded her of the dreams of our youth. I made promises to her that I never intended to keep. I gave her my pledge of marriage. I even gave her a ring. Only after seducing her did I reveal my true plan. I intended to keep her as my mistress, establishing a home for her anywhere she chose, where we would present ourselves to the locals as man and wife. _

_I told her that I would eventually have to marry a woman from a family of means and influence to appease my own family and secure Downton's future, but that I would visit her and would devote myself to her as if we were truly married. I was naïve enough to believe I could maintain this lie without exposure and without neglecting either family._

_Miss Dickens refused to be party to these plans. She had believed that I would make her Countess of Grantham. She rejected my further advances with revulsion. She was angry and distraught that my deception had driven her to reject the honorable love and intentions of Mr. Carson. She refused to see me, or to even leave her father's house._

_I did not give up hope of convincing her to accept my scheme, but I removed to London temporarily rather than face her disgust. While I was away, she discovered that she was with child. Unbeknownst to me at the time, her father, after consulting with my own father, contacted David Carson. Mr. Carson convinced your mother to marry him and allow him to claim you as his own. I believe he was paid a sum of money, but I also believe that he only accepted it in order that he might provide for his new family._

_I wish I could claim my ignorance of your mother's condition as the reason for my cowardly actions. While I was indeed ignorant, I cannot honestly say that I would have done differently had I known of her condition. I would like to say that I would have behaved honorably, but I cannot. I was entirely dependent upon my family for everything. I was distinctly unqualified to provide for a wife and child without the financial support of my family. I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle and I was weak. It is very unlikely that I would have married your mother against my family's wishes, even had I known the truth. _

_To my eternal shame, David Carson proved to be the man that I could not and raised the son who should have been my responsibility. _

_I was sent away again by my family, knowing nothing of your existence. I only knew that Caroline was married and beyond my sway. I never saw her again and my life was the poorer for the loss. Eventually, I did marry, and returned to Downton._

_Many years later, just after my own father's death, Mr. Dickens requested that you be taken on at Downton. As Lady Grantham handled the minor household hiring, it was not until your mother died that I knew you were on the estate. I was told that Mr. Dickens and his grandson had traveled to Hull to attend Mrs. Carson's funeral. I had not seen you, at least not that I could recall. I still did not know that you were anything but the child of David and Caroline Carson._

_I had not the courage to attend her funeral. Your father kept you in Hull but your grandfather returned to Downton. I did not dare ask after you for fear of raising suspicions of my past with your mother, so I sought out Mr. Dickens. When I ascertained your age, I pressed him further. He confirmed that you were my son. He asked me not to reveal the truth to you, saying you were a good lad and should not be burdened with the stigma of being illegitimate._

_And so, I said nothing. In the years that followed, I had reason to believe that Lady Grantham knew about your origin, but she was sly and never tipped her hand. Had she done so, I would have sent you away immediately. When your grandfather died, I considered sending you away, but there was no plausible reason for me to involve myself in the comings and goings of a hall boy. _

_By that point, Lady Grantham had taken an interest in you and I did not dare interact with you for fear of discovery. When your good father died, his brother took you away. Lady Grantham revealed her suspicions to me and demanded that I provide for your future education if they were true._

_Reluctantly, I confessed my connection to you and your mother and agreed to offer your uncle more money. Your uncle disdained our assistance and raised you beyond our influence. I admit that I was relieved to see you gone. I had Rosamund and Robert to consider. _

_When you returned to Downton as a fine young man of twenty-one, my first wish was to send you away. The idea of your being so close to the family was disconcerting to me, but Lady Grantham insisted. At first, I thought she was attempting to punish me, but I abandoned this belief. Very soon, you were a valued member of our staff. You exhibited a simple, selfless nature that reminded me of your mother. _

_I saw how both Robert and Rosamund respected you and how patient you were with them. There was something in me that rejoiced to see how they turned to you for guidance and support. I convinced myself that, subconsciously, the three of you were aware of your relationship. Many times, I almost told you the truth, but I could not bring myself to take any action which would result in your leaving Downton._

_Perhaps I was only trying to justify my actions, but I told myself that allowing you to be a part of the family in even this small way was kinder than rejecting you altogether. When you went with Robert to London, Lady Grantham hoped that you would find a reason to stay in London, or perhaps a better position. I rejoiced when you did not. Though I was sensitive to the impropriety of allowing you to remain in our service, I knew that my family would suffer in your absence._

_And, with that, we reach the present. Though I do not deserve it, you have returned to comfort me in my hour of distress. I do not know how much longer my body will endure, but I know my mind is failing. I pray the one will not long outlast the other, but the doctors know little and tell me less. My greatest consolation is the knowledge that whatever comes, I can rely upon you to safeguard my dignity and the dignity of my house. _

_I am leaving the timing of this disclosure to Lady Grantham. She and Timothy Carson are the last remaining keepers of my secret. I would call it a shameful secret, but I feel only pride when I think of the man you have become._

_It is within Lady Grantham's power and rights to destroy this letter and the analogous letters that I have written to Robert and Rosamund. If you are reading this, she has not done so. I hope you will consider that and will not judge her too harshly for her role in this deception._

_Beyond the cleft in your chin there is little that I can leave to you, my son. Everything else that I can offer is in the envelope which will accompany this letter. Whether it holds any value to you, I cannot say. _

_I do not know if this disclosure will be of any consolation to you, but I pray that it may be. Perhaps it is simply my final act of selfishness, to unburden my heart at your expense, but I hope you will find peace in knowing the truth. _

_The truth of your life is that you had a dear and loving mother who was adored by two men, only one of whom proved worthy of her. Rightfully, you bear his name and you have borne it proudly. _

_Though I have no right to ask it, I hope that you will sometimes think of me as your repentant and unworthy father, _

_R.E. Crawley'_

Silently, Charles handed the letter to Robert. Even if he could speak, Charles felt he would be unable to summarize the Earl's letter sufficiently. When he had reached the end of the first page, Robert handed it to Rosamund. While they were reading, Charles opened the envelope that contained his inheritance. There were two old photographs, remarkably well preserved in the envelope. The smaller photograph was of two children on horseback. They could not have been older than eight. One child was a young girl with braided hair and an open smile featuring two missing teeth. She sat sidesaddle in front of a tall boy who wore a serious expression and a hacking jacket. The boy had a small dimple in the middle of his chin that was the exact match to Charles' own when he pursed his lips in serious contemplation. A tall, stately man held the horse's reins, scowling at the camera.

The second photograph was a wedding picture. Charles easily recognized his father, who wore a suit jacket that was at least two sizes too big for him. Looking at this, Charles wondered how anyone would have ever believed that this man was his father. David Carson was not as delicately built as his brother, but he was not a large man. His face was round and soft. Even an impressive pair of sideburns failed to imbue him with any sense of stern authority. This face would never be anything but kind.

Although neither of them were smiling, Charles thought the couple looked happy, with their hands joined together in front of them, holding a small bouquet of flowers. He searched his mother's face, trying to imagine how she had looked when animated and laughing. He thought he could remember. She was wearing a tightly corseted, high-necked dress. No one would have guessed that she was already three months pregnant.

"They are lovely, Charles." Rosamund, who was a much faster reader than Robert, looked at the photos as she awaited the next page of the letter. "Well, Charles, I can see you inherited your grandfather Dickens' nose. And his eyebrows."

Reluctantly, Charles set the photographs aside. The remaining contents of the envelope were several notarized pages. One was clearly a marriage certificate; another, a birth certificate. The remaining two pages were covered in the same handwriting that filled the pages of the three letters. The Earl's signature at the bottom of both confirmed it. One of the pages was witnessed and notarized. It was a sworn statement of the Earl's acknowledgement that he was the father of one Charles Edward Carson. The final page was a short note from the Earl. _'Should you ever need proof.'_

"Why would he have done all of this?" Charles asked, looking at the legal documents.

Rosamund shrugged. "Probably something to do with inheritances. We should ask Murray."

"But not today." Robert told her. "This is quite a letter, Charles. Are you okay?"

"I am glad to know his perspective." Charles was very glad that this was not the only account of his parentage that they had received. It was detailed and near unassailable proof, but, compared to the accounts from his uncle and the Dowager, the letter left Charles feeling cold.

The Earl had never been a warm or demonstrative man. This letter hinted at depths unexplored, even a lifetime of gnawing regret, but Charles could not sympathize. Eventually, Charles might reconcile himself to the hypocrisy of this late in life attack of conscience, but not yet.

Charles was glad that Robert had finally been given the validation that he'd craved, but there was little here that comforted him. Of all the Earl had left, the photo of his parents was what he would treasure most.

"These letters were all clearly written after you returned to Downton and his health began to fail, but they seem to be from before he attacked you." Robert noted.

"You know about that?" Charles had not expected that.

"Mama told us this morning after we took her back to the Dowager House."

"Only the two of you know?"

"Yes."

"I should like to keep it that way. Your father was not himself and it is such a sensational story, it sounds so much worse than it was."

"If you wish, Charles." Robert reluctantly agreed. "Shall we join the rest of the family? They must be near mad with impatience by now. Murray was very mysterious when he arrived this morning. I think Edith and Rose may explode from anticipation if we do not relieve them soon."

"Yes, I should very much like to join the family."

CE—

After Elsie had ascertained that the Dowager Countess was safely installed back at the Dowager House and resting, the drawing room had lapsed into an awkward silence. Elsie did not want to discuss anything without Charles present. The rest of the family seemed to feel the same way about Robert and Rosamund. Mr. Murray had dropped in briefly to say his goodbye, but then the endless waiting had begun.

Elsie's eyes wandered around the familiar room, seeking out the corners that she knew would show the first signs of negligent dusting. For the most part, she was satisfied, but she did see a few things that she would be bringing to Anna's attention. _But only if Anna asks_, she promised herself.

Lady Cora had sent Mr. Barrow away, but eventually, she rang for him and ordered tea. Thomas blatantly eyed Mrs. Carson when he returned with the cart. Part of her welcomed his insolence; she was spoiling for a fight. Anything was better than this tense nothingness. Instead of confronting Thomas, she counted slowly to ten to calm herself. After he left, she realized that they were fooling themselves if they thought this secret could be kept for more than a few weeks if they insisted on interacting with the family. She smiled as Isobel handed her a cup and saucer.

Finally, mercifully, the door opened and the three siblings entered. Robert looked at Charles, indicating that the floor was his. Charles shrugged, "Same story, different perspective." He was ready to move on from the drama. The past had been run to ground and then dragged into the light, exposed for the feeble creature that it was. There was nothing more the past could do to him. The only thing that interested Charles now was the future.

"Letters from father." Rosamund clarified.

"And legal proof that Charles is his natural son." Robert added.

The unspoken question of 'What now?' hung in the room for several heartbeats. Then, everyone but Charles and Elsie began speaking at once. Tom and Robert were talking in low voices by the fire. The ladies clustered around Rose on the couches. Something very important seemed to hinge on Rose and Rosamund reaching a consensus. It was clear that they were picking up a heated discussion that had been previously suspended without resolution.

Elsie was glad to see that Charles looked resigned, but not melancholy. He smiled at her as she poured him a cup of tea. He had the easy air of one who had come through a long illness to find themselves stronger than when they had first fallen ill.

Charles accepted his cup of tea and stood next to Elsie, watching the family; his family. Mary caught his eye and they exchanged smiles. She looked at the family, all of whom were now either speaking animatedly, like Rose and Rosamund, or nodding emphatically, like Isobel and Edith. Mary saw how absurd they must appear and began to laugh at the bemused look on Mr. and Mrs. Carson's faces.

"And what is so funny, pray tell, Mary?" Rosamund broke off her debate with Rose to confront her niece.

"I only thought we should perhaps ask Uncle Charles' opinion on the matter."

"I am sure I can have no opinion that has not been expressed, Lady Mary."

"Very likely." She conceded. "Then perhaps you would offer your wisdom on the topic? As very little of that is in evidence."

Cora had to agree with that assessment. "Charles, most of the family believes that it will be impossible to keep this a secret for very long. You have said that you do not wish to be known as… a bastard, but it seems inevitable."

"And," Edith added, "We would like to spend time with you both without the lingering threat of exposure. It seems best just to have it out."

Robert and Tom joined them now. Tom nodded his agreement. "George and Sybbie will know you as their great aunt and uncle. We can't confuse them by asking them to participate in a lie."

Robert said, "We think we can keep this quiet long enough to allow Rose to begin her debut Season, but not much longer."

"And, I tell you, I do not give a fig about any of that." Rose interjected. "Times are different. Having this air of controversy about the family might make me more interesting. Every girl needs to have something to make them stand out from the crowd." She beamed at Charles and Elsie before turning with a challenging look to Rosamund.

"And I just want to have one more season at the top of the London society before I am cast off." Rosamund pouted. "I understand that sounds incredibly shallow to you all, but you do not live in London year round. For you, London is a lark, a vacation. For me, London is a jungle."

"And a tiger will always find a way to survive in a jungle." Robert assured her. "We will wait as long as we can, Rosamund, but we must control the discovery of this information. If the family does not react as though the news is scandalous, the world can hardly make it so."

"Then you do not know the world very well, Robert." Rosamund huffed. "Does the invitation to join you in Italy still stand, Charles? I may need to flee London suddenly."

Startled by the question, he turned to Elsie, who shrugged. "Why not?" Elsie said. "The more, the merrier."

"Then do what you will, Robert." Rosamund gave up the fight. "At least I shall discover who my true friends are." She hoped very much that she had some.

"Speaking of friends," Elsie transitioned, "Charles and I should like to visit briefly downstairs before we go."

"And then, I think we should return to Hull before we invite more gossip." Charles added.

Robert nodded. "Agreed. Mary and I are planning to tour and photograph some estates in East Riding next month. Would the two of you care to join us?"

"Charles may." Elsie was still not sure that was her idea of an enjoyable outing. "But before that, we hope to see at least some of you in Hull for Robert Burns Day."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world." Cora replied.

Charles was made distinctly uncomfortable by the near identical smirks that now appeared on every face in the room. He suspected Elsie had already turned them all against him. Before the topic of kilts could be raised, Charles set down his tea and picked up the envelope with his parents' photo.

"Then we shall say see in you a few short weeks. Farewell for now." He shook hands with Robert and Tom and accepted the hugs and kisses from the ladies. Elsie hugged everyone except Rosamund, who leaned in daintily to exchange a kiss on the cheek. "Shall we go downstairs, love?"

"Of course, Charles, do you remember the way?" Elsie teased.

"I think so, but I'll have you with me, should I get lost." Charles winked down at her. "Between us, I think we can find the way."

"Yes, love, I think we can."

THE END-

* * *

**A/N Bloody hell, that was a long two months! I must commend all of you who started this journey with me in July. Your posts, follows and favorites helped me power through a few of the more questionable patches. **

**And sorry for the tease about the D.C. dying. It didn't last long. I think we are all agreed that the D.C. is like the Queen Mum; she will live to be 101 years old. **

**FYI…There will be a brief Epilogue (hopefully tomorrow) to close this story and a supplemental Christmas Special (posted as a stand alone story entitled 'Perche No'- which I hope to post in its entirety next week. As the title hints, it might have something to do with Italy…)**

**Thank you, again. Keep shipping the Chelsie! **


	51. Epilogue

In the weeks leading up to the Robert Burns Dinner, Elsie was as busy as she had ever been in her life. She and Suzanne had met with every Scottish Brotherhood, Society and Organization in Hull. Elsie had been surprised to find that there were so many. She had not been surprised to find that they were populated by some very opinionated people. There had been more than one lively discussion where voices had been raised, but Elsie was used to the Scottish temperament and gave as good as she got. Often, to Suzanne's astonishment, these proved to be the most productive discussions.

"I forgot how much I love a good argument." Elsie commented to Charles over dinner, after recounting her afternoon with the Daughters of Caledonia.

"I thought we had a few good arguments." Charles sounded defensive but teasing. He looked over at her. Though their table was much smaller than the Downton staff table, they had maintained their seating arrangement. She'd tried sitting across from him once, but it felt too strange to both of them and she had quickly moved back to his right hand side.

"Charles, you're too much of a gentleman to have a proper argument. You either leave before you lose your temper, or you try to reach a compromise. But the worst thing is that you are sometimes willing to admit when you are wrong."

This puzzled him. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, but it's why I can always win any disagreement between us."

"But you _don't_ always win our disagreements." He reminded her.

"But I could." She smiled at him warily, assuring herself she wasn't taking the teasing too far.

He smiled back around a mouthful of bread. "Well, I shall not argue that."

She reached over and rested her hand on his. "What's more, I don't want to have a proper argument with you, love. I need you on my side."

He turned his hand to take hers. "You shall always have that, my lass." He knew she needed his support right now. Several evenings he had come home to find her still at her desk, their evening plans or dinner forgotten.

A lot was riding on this event. Of course, there was her pride as a Scot, but it was much more than that. She and Suzanne had supported a few private events in the past few weeks, but the large, ticketed events that they hosted for themselves, or similar charity events, would be the real heart of their business. Also, larger events meant they were able to employ a larger number of people, which was important to Elsie and Suzanne.

CE—

Saturday, January 21st, 1922

"Have I told you what lovely knees you have, Charles?" He was shuffling across the cold floor in his socked feet and robe, carrying a breakfast tray back from the kitchen. She knew he was pampering her because she had been working so hard, but Elsie hoped breakfast in bed would become a Saturday tradition.

"I am glad that you think so, love, but they are not for public display." He set the tray on his bedside table and slipped back into bed, hanging his robe on the headboard post. "I don't know how much clearer I can say it. I am not wearing a kilt on Wednesday. I will read the poem if you wish. I will wear a tartan vest or tie, but no kilt."

"Who mentioned a kilt? Have I said a word about kilts in weeks?"

"No, but your minions have been relentless; Annette and Brittany, especially. You've set everyone we know in Hull against me." He moved the tray to the bed and handed her a mug of coffee.

"A wise man once told me that the secret to good planning is delegation."

"Well, whatever you are paying them, it is not enough. They have surpassed themselves in their zealous, pro-kilt campaign."

"I believe they think a victory in this case would be its own reward."

"The world will never know. I've already regrown the beard for the occasion."

"Yes, and you have been compensated for that. And you will continue to be compensated as long as it pleases me." She scratched his chin teasingly. He pretended not to enjoy it. "Perhaps we could reach a similar agreement where the kilt is concerned."

"But the beard already gets me what I want with the added bonus of not making me look like a fool."

"Are you calling William Wallace a fool? Or Robert the Bruce?"

"A Scot in a kilt does not look a fool. An Englishman, on the other hand…"

"Everyone is a Scot on Robert Burns' Day. You are doing the accent for the poem, aren't you?" He had been tasked with the Address to the Haggis after all the candidates suggested by various helpful groups had been rejected for varying reasons.

It had been an easy task assigning all the other roles. A former professor from Edinburgh named Gordon McIntyre had been universally accepted to deliver the toast to Burns' 'Immortal Memory' and every society had been given a place in the program. But the honored spot of addressing the haggis proved to put so many noses out of joint, Elsie had ended the debate by volunteering Charles.

"You _are_ doing the accent?" She asked again.

"I am not sure you can read Burns without it," was his reluctant answer. He didn't want to have this discussion. He didn't want to talk about the kilt. The more they talked, the more likely she was to triumph.

"Then people will think you are a Scot and you will look more a fool wearing pants than wearing a kilt."

At this point, Charles thought it best to disengage from the discussion. He removed the paper form the tray and opened it crisply, obscuring himself completely from view.

"Don't go hiding from me, Charles Carson. I know full well you've already read the paper."

"I have not yet read this morning's paper."

She looked at the date on the paper. It was, indeed, today's edition. "And how did you manage to do that? You weren't gone more than ten minutes and I could hear you puttering around in the kitchen most of the time."

He dropped his voice low and whispered from behind the paper, as though afraid of being overheard. "Well, it's a trade secret, love, but, for a nominal fee, someone will deliver the paper to your doorstep."

She did not appreciate his sarcasm. "I am aware of that, but we've quite a unique doorstep."

"And a unique nominal fee to match."

She knew Charles was trying to goad her by being intentionally obtuse. He had not lowered the paper. He was still touchy about the kilt business. She knew it was best to let him have his sulk. For the first time, she contemplated breakfast. But she was distracted by what she found.

"When did you have time to bake scones? For that matter, when did you _learn_ to bake scones?"

"Don't be silly, love. Did you hear any cursing coming from the kitchen or smell anything burning?"

"No."

"Then I have obviously _not_ been baking."

_Point taken._ "Then please explain this." He lowered the paper to see what she needed explained. Elsie indicated the breakfast tray, which contained a small basket of scones and a container of jam. She opened one of the scones, which was still warm, and held it up to him as exhibit A.

"I thought if the poor lad was going to walk up all those stairs, he might as well earn a bit extra for bringing us breakfast."

"A stroke of genius, love." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before he could raise the paper and his defenses. She saw him smirk as he hid himself once more behind the day's news.

She split another scone and slathered them both with jam. When he lowered the paper to turn the page, she placed a napkin and one of the scones on his slightly protruding belly. It balanced there as he looked up at her sternly. But he could not keep up the grouchy act. Laughing, he set the paper aside and picked up the scone.

Conversationally, he asked, "Have you much work to do this week, love, or is it all in hand for Wednesday?"

Over scones and coffee, she ran him through the preparations for the dinner. He would occasionally prompt her with a question, but he rarely got past, "Have you…?"

He smiled to watch her running through the list in her head. It reminded him of all the events they'd planned together at Downton. He had done his share of the work, but the bulk of the planning had always been done by Elsie. Sometimes, he had wondered if he was even necessary to the planning process. Admittedly, it had never stopped him from accepting the congratulations on a job well done after a successful party.

Finally, she had covered every last detail, outlined the evening's program and omitted the controversial kilt. "And don't forget, May and Colin will arrive tomorrow. Even though they are staying with Suzie and Nate, we should meet them at the station. And we'll be taking them all out to dinner on Monday."

Charles had not forgotten. He was very much looking forward to seeing May again. In addition, he had some thoughts of getting Mr. McAvoy alone for a little heart to heart. After all, May was his sister now and he felt justified attempting to put a little fear of God into her drunkard of a husband.

Elsie felt better now. No event planning ever felt complete to her until she'd run it all by Charles. He rarely had to remind her of anything, but she knew he would catch anything she had missed. Having him unable to think of anything to ask gave her confidence that she was truly prepared.

Sipping her coffee with satisfaction, and leaning against him, Elsie's mind wandered further into the future. "How are the preparations for Italy going? Have you heard back from all the wineries?"

"Most of them. I think the work portion of the trip is almost completely squared away. I'm excited to finally meet so many people I've been in correspondence with for years. I actually wrote a bit in Italian to several of them last week."

"Showoff. You know, not all of us had Latin when we were young." This was a sore spot for Elsie. Despite lessons almost evening for the past two weeks, she was still struggling. They'd suspended the lessons for next week to focus on the Burns Supper.

"I didn't have much Latin in school, and it was a very long time ago, but it has come back quickly, and it does help. But don't act as though you are not learning quickly. Your vocabulary is excellent and you are almost as proficient at reading Italian as I am, even with my head start. You'll be passing me by very soon. The writing will come. It's the verbal that you don't like. It isn't your fault that your accent is so atrocious."

"Atrocious? Is that what Signore Giuseppe said?"

"His exact word was 'Atroci.'" Elsie leaned away to glare at him. He shrugged his shoulders. "It is not a secret, love. I am not sure he has yet recovered from that first lesson. But take heart, you already have a better ear than I do. I cannot follow at all when he starts speaking quickly. I could probably follow an opera, but conversational speed is going to be a problem for me."

"We'll make a fine pair, Mr. Carson. We are going to be touring Italy and when people talk to us, I'll translate Italian to English for you and you'll respond in perfectly accented Italian. We shall look mad."

"But people will appreciate that we are trying." Seeing how frustrated she was, he tried to encourage her. "Don't worry, love, the Signore says you'll do better when you aren't trying so hard. You know your brogue gets worse when you are excited or angry.

"And, once you're done with the Burns Supper, you won't be spending every day with large groups of Scots. I love your accent, but there have been a few times this last week when I can't even understand your English, let alone your Italian."

He hurried on before she could take offense. "Not to worry. We have months before we go to Italy and one day, it will just click."

Elsie smiled gratefully. "Perhaps you are right." She gathered up the tray, preparing to head to the kitchen for more coffee.

"Until then, perhaps I should just learn the phrase, 'Please forgive my wife's accent. She cannot help it; she is Scottish.'" Charles received a wadded cloth napkin to the face for his suggestion.

When she returned from the kitchen with the coffee urn, Charles decided to change the subject. "Mary and Rosamund are apparently researching the most fashionable places to stay in each city. We'll find the nicest hotel we can afford close to them in each city. Though I doubt we'll even be in the same city on the Riviera. They are thinking about renting a villa in Venice."

"It is our honeymoon, Charles, I don't plan to spend every second with the family."

"We will have at least a week all to ourselves after I've done with work and before we meet them in Milan."

"And must we see that _woman _in Milan?" Her voice dripped with contempt.

"_Tamara _can get us excellent seats and a tour of La Scala. You know Lady Mary will be excited to see behind the scenes. And you cannot blame me entirely for our having to see her."

Indeed, Elsie could not. She had insisted on writing a note of thanks to Tamara for the champagne. In it, she might have been a little boastful about their upcoming honeymoon. "If you had not told her that we were going to be in Italy, she would never have known. Now it would be rude not to at least see her. Not after accepting her gift. You reap what you sow, love."

"I don't need a sermon on it, Charles. How was I to know she was only in London for a brief engagement before heading back to Europe? But we are _not_ accepting her offer to stay with her." Elsie's tone did not allow for debate.

"Agreed." Charles shuddered to think of Elsie and Tamara under the same roof. "She's not as bad as all that. You might actually like her." Her withering look made him backtrack, "You might not hate her. Try to pity her, love; she's lonely."

"I thought you said she always has some young man with her."

"I didn't say she was alone. I said she was _lonely._ There is a difference. Tamara is rarely alone."

"You are not making me feel any better about this."

"It's still months away, don't stress about it now. She moves about very capriciously; she might not even be in Milan when we are there." Elsie needed to focus on other things at present. "You couldn't possibly be jealous?"

"Jealous? Me?" She huffed. "Should I be?"

He wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. He looked directly into her eyes. "She couldn't seduce me when I was an eager twenty year old. You broke through every defense of a stubborn, staid and stuffy butler."

"It took me twenty-five years and several tragedies to do so." She reminded him.

"She could have thirty-five years and still not reach me. What must I do to convince you?" He asked, kissing her again. She pouted still, but was clearly willing to be convinced. "And you aren't really jealous, love. You're just anxious about May and Colin arriving. Once they get here, you'll be running nonstop until midnight on Wednesday." Finally, she nodded and smiled.

"Which is why," he told her, leaning in again, "we are not leaving the flat today. I can't even think of a reason to leave the bed." This time, she returned his kiss.

CE—

Wednesday, January 25, 1922 "Robert Burns Day"

Elsie, Suzanne, May and Beryl stood, sipping their wine, watching the first of the guests arrive. "Have you ever worked hard for something and then felt badly when you actually accomplished it?" Elsie asked.

"Does this have anything to do with that poor man standing against the wall?" Beryl looked over to where a distinctly discomfited Mr. Carson stood facing the quickly filling room. His face turned a deeper shade of red with every familiar face he spied.

"It was only meant to be a bit of fun, but Lord, he looks miserable."

"I think even his knees are blushing, El. But what lovely knees." Suzanne teased. "Nothing finer than a tall man in a kilt..."

Elsie couldn't argue with that. _He does look very grand._ Elsie thought proudly. He had finally accepted the kilt and full kit; socks, ghillie brogues and the sporran. But he had steadfastly refused the lace shirtfront. Instead, he wore a Windsor knotted tie of solid blue with the Argyle style coat and vest.

"You know I am going to kill Nathan." Elsie reminded her.

"What's he to do with it?" Beryl wondered.

"He asked Charles if he was 'going regimental' and said he intended to find out. Suzanne assured him that Nathan was only joking, but it has gotten into his head that other people might try as well." Elsie also suspected that Charles just felt more comfortable standing with his back to a wall. He had spent enough years doing it.

"He'll get over it." Beryl assured her. "The night is just starting. But I have to know how on earth you accomplished it."

"The same way the Grand Canyon was formed…drop by drop. Though May really sealed the deal."

May batted her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, Mr. Carson. I sent all the way to Scotland for this kilt. Our tartan is very hard to find, and I had to order it specially woven. If you don't wear it, I shall be so disappointed."

Laughing, Beryl applauded the performance, almost spilling her wine. "It's not fair. He's hopeless enough against the will of one Hughes sister…"

"All's fair…" May laughed and raised her glass in a toast.

CE—

_Breathe, Charles._ He told himself. _You know the lines. Everything is going to be fine. Elsie is relying on you, man. Breathe. _

He had always been nervous before a show, but if he could get past the first line, the nerves would melt away. Charles watched as Mrs. Kerr proudly carried the haggis before the pipers. Charles thought one piper would have been plenty, but Elsie had wanted a full pipe and drum core. She had compromised with three pipers and two drums. He saw Robert wince as the parade passed the Crawley family's table.

Elsie had already welcomed their guests and invited everyone to be seated at their assigned tables. She had opened the proceeding with the Selkirk Grace and everyone had tucked into their soup.

The hall was packed. Charles had no idea the Scottish population of Hull was so patriotic. Very shortly after the doors opened, Charles realized that he would not be the only man in a kilt tonight. Indeed, it was the men wearing pants who looked out of place.

Slowly, Charles had come out from the safety of the wall to greet guests with Elsie, who was wearing the sash from their wedding over a beautiful, dark blue dress. She was glowing with pride of a fine event coming together. It was only natural for Charles to be beside her.

Still keeping an eye out for Nathan, Charles had actually begun to enjoy himself and had not been mortified in the least when Mary could not stop herself from laughing. It was so good to hear such genuine mirth from her, he almost wished he had worn a kilt sooner.

Charles checked the poem that lay beside the place they would lay the haggis before him. He'd committed it to memory, but thought it was best to have the text, just in case. He stood as the haggis approached, as if welcoming an old friend. He remained standing as people applauded for Mrs. Kerr and the pipers.

Finally the guests held their collective breath as the last strains of the pipes died away. Charles' sense of presentation told him to let them wait. At just the right moment, Charles began his recitation. His stentorian voice filled the large hall as fully as the pipes had. Charles perfectly played the ironic pomposity that the address to the "Great chieftain o' the puddin-race" required. He ended the poem with an enthusiastic toast.

From that moment on, the program flowed exactly as Elsie had described it. As people were enjoying their haggis, or perhaps enjoying only their tatties and neeps, Mr. McIntyre delivered a humorous and enlightening toast to the immortal memory of Robert Burns. Nathan offered the toast to the lassies, which was artfully rebutted by Agnes Campbell, a woman whose age was widely debated, but most likely lay between ninety and one hundred and ten. There were rumors that she had a brother who fought at Culloden, but she swore it was only her father.

The plates were cleared as the other performances began. Elsie had designed an evening with a pleasing mix of spoken word and song. Interspersed amongst these, a local group of Scottish lasses performed a few Highland dances.

Charles marveled at her precise planning. He was good at anticipating the needs of people in the moment, but Elsie had the gift of anticipating the timing of an event weeks in advance. She didn't force activities, but seemed to instinctively know how long it took people to eat a particular dish or tire of one entertainment. Elsie had timed tonight down to the minute and yet, it still had the easy flow and spontaneity of a traditional ceilidh. The only deviation from her timetable had been an encore granted by one of the older Scottish gentlemen. But one nervous lad had completed 'Tam O' Shanter' in record time, so everything was still on schedule.

After the vote of thanks had been offered, the company had sung 'Auld Lang Syne' and the tables were whisked away from the dance floor. Some enthusiastic folks had started reeling even before the floor was cleared. The program was complete, but most people looked ready to stay for several hours more; just as she had planned.

"Old Rabbie hi'self would be proud of tonight, my love." Charles congratulated her as their table and their chairs were spirited away. "Now you can just enjoy the party."

"I plan to. You do know a reel or two, do you not, my love?"

"I am willing to be taught, love."

CE—

"Are ye sure ye're not Scottish, lad?" Mr. McIntyre was asking Charles. "That was one of the finer addresses I've witnessed."

"Yorkshire all the way, I am afraid."

"Well, there's some as would consider that as good as Scottish." Gordon slapped him on the arm. "A Londoner would probably consider you a Lowland Scot."

"I'd be proud to have them think so." Charles assured the man, who was not quite stable on his feet. Considering the volume of whiskey Charles had seen him consume tonight, it was amazing that he could stand at all. He was glad that May and Colin had left just after the program closed. They had the obvious excuse that Colin's leg was still healing. Colin had the private excuse that he had a brother-in-law who was watching him very closely.

The evening was winding down to a close. A few of the younger set still begged the band to play just one more jig, but they would be packing up soon, Charles knew.

The family from Downton had already departed for their hotel with Anna and Bates. Before they left, Charles had taken Bates aside and sounded out his interest in the Grantham Arms. Bates had been keen to discuss it further. Also, Charles had promised Mary and Robert to accompany them to tour Kirby Hall in a few weeks. It had been agreed that the announcement of Charles' connection to the family would take place sometime in the next month. Bates, Anna and Mrs. Patmore were far too suspicious already and Cora's will power was weakening.

Charles scanned the room. Beryl and Elsie were talking intimately in the corner. Charles spotted Uncle Timothy talking to Mr. Pease at one of the few remaining tables and decided to join them.

Elsie and Beryl were indeed in a deep conversation. "He's proposed?" Elsie tried not to sound astonished. She had not believed Mr. Mason would move so quickly. They were still months away from Daisy moving to the farm. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. I haven't decided yet. I don't know him very well. The only reason it appeals to me at all is because I'd be there to support Daisy. I suspect that's why he asked. It wouldn't be right to accept him if the only thing we have in common is Daisy."

"Marriages have been built on less. Make sure you do get to know him, then. He seems a good man. And make sure he gets to know you. He'll have to love you." Elsie assured her. "I'll be honest, Beryl. I never thought marriage would be for me, but I've never been happier." She reached out and patted her friend's knee. "But there's no harm in letting him pursue you for a bit."

"Well, he's already a fair sight better than the last man who pursued me."

Charles heard their laughter as he sat down beside Uncle Timothy. The two older gentlemen seemed to be enjoying talking business.

"I can't believe we've never met before, Mr. Carson. Had I known about you earlier, it would have been easy for us to track down your nephew."

"Why would you want to do that?" Timothy asked.

Before answering, Mr. Pease looked at Charles for permission. Charles shrugged. He hardly had any secrets from Uncle Timothy. "Well, we've been sitting on an account in his name for over fifty years. It was started by your brother in 1869."

"Fifty years? I dare say it's a considerable sum by now."

Mr. Pease's banker training led him to be vague. "You'll have to discuss that with your nephew. It's not my place to say. I am only relieved that we have found the rightful heir to the money. I am sure it will be put to excellent use." Some movement across the room caught his eye and he waved back.

"My party is leaving now. It was a lovely meeting you, Mr. Carson. And, Mr. Charles Carson, please convey my gratitude to your wife for inviting us."

The two Misters Carson watched the old man slowly navigate the last of the dancers to collect his coat and hat.

"Nice fellow, that." Timothy commented. "Might have to send some business his way." After a few moments, he picked up the remainder of his whiskey. "But there's a question answered that's been bothering me, no end."

"What is that, uncle?"

"I always wondered what he'd done with that money. Congratulations, my boy, on your inheritance."

"Father, you mean? What money are you talking of?"

"After your mother died, your father didn't want anything to do with the money he'd been given when he married her. That's why he took contract work instead of running his own boat.

"I tried for years to buy him out, but he refused to even think about it. Finally, I convinced him it was for you, not for him and that he should take the money."

"And you bought him out for five?" Charles tried not to sound too judgmental, but he didn't think Timothy had dealt fairly with his brother.

"I offered him ten, but he wouldn't accept more than the five. I thought he might have sent it to you, but you never mentioned."

"Why would I mention five pounds?" Charles was puzzled.

"Five pounds? Lord, I didn't buy him out for five pounds. It were five thousand pounds, lad." Timothy finished off his whiskey now, shaking his head. "Are you okay, Charles?"

Charles had blanched at his uncle's words. Processing the implications, he looked up to see Mr. Pease preparing to exit the hall.

Leaping to his feet, he dodged the dancers and moved swiftly to where the old man stood with his hat on his head and his cane in hand. "Mr. Pease!" The banker looked taken aback by Charles insistent tone.

"I am sorry to startle you, Mr. Pease, but I just wanted to check something that has been bothering me." _How to word this…_ "You said that my father started the account with 'five'" He held up his hand, all four fingers and the thumb. "But 'five' can mean, five pounds or five hundred or…"

"Five thousand. The original amount was five thousand. Why would anyone establish an account for five pounds?"

"Why, indeed." Charles agreed. "So, the current amount is seven hundred and forty _thousand _pounds?" He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but his mind was racing. He could probably thank the little bit of whiskey still in his blood for helping him to not pass out.

"Give or take; yes. Were you not aware of that, Mr. Carson?"

"Mrs. Carson and I were under the impression that you meant five hundred. That extra zero does make a considerable difference."

"That it does. Perhaps you'll want to discuss the account in more detail next week?"

"I think we should do that." Charles nodded absently. "Good night, Mr. Pease."

Charles stood awkwardly blocking the doorway after the banker left. Finally, the group behind him asked him to 'shove over' and he managed to stumble back fully into the hall.

His antics had attracted Elsie's attention. She left Beryl and came across the room to him. His shocked countenance frightened her. She lay her hand on his arm. "What is wrong, love?"

He tried to reassure her with a shaky smile. "Nothing is wrong, exactly." He took her hand. "Elsie, love, we need to talk...but first, I need a whiskey."

* * *

**BAM! That's the last big surprise. Charles and Elsie are now richer than Croesus. Matthew isn't the only one who can inherit massive amounts of money...**

**By necessity, I have decided that this Epilogue will have to serve as the Christmas Special. _Perche No_ will be turned into my version of season 5. Sorry to promise more than I could deliver. Life and work have a way of not cooperating with the creative process.**

**In January, my AU season 5 will include the reveal to the staff, the trip to Italy (with Tamara), more with Mr. Mason and Mrs. Patmore and exactly what Chelsie will do with all that money. It just got too big to finish before the ITV launch THIS SUNDAY! **

**Also, I want to include Martha and Harold in the Italy trip, so I am suspending this AU until I have absorbed what Mr. Fellowes has given us in his season 4, including the Christmas Special.  
**

**If you have any requests for my AU Season 5 (Characters that I've overlooked in the staff..., people you would like to see in Italy with the family…, what they can do with the money…,any scenarios beyond the Chelsieness that I love…) just leave a note on this story any point before January and I will try my best to work it in.**

**Signing off until January, when I will be back with the AU season 5, several stories that are kicking around and whatever new stories the canon Series 4 ignites…hope to see you then. In the meantime, t****hanks for reading and ****keep shipping the Chelsie!**

**Chelsie Dagger **


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